Guardian of Time Read online

  Guardian of Time - The Prophecies, Book 2

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  About the Author

  GUARDIAN OF TIME

  Book Two

  The Prophecies

  Linda Hawley

  Guardian of Time, Copyright © 2011 by Linda Hawley.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Nouveau Publishing

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, technologies, and organizations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Manuscript Edited by D Kai Wilson - IndieUnbound.com

  Manuscript Proofread by Jackie Jones - JJProofing.com

  Cover Design by Joleene Naylor

  Cover images:

  © Mettus through Dreamstime.com

  © Filograph through Dreamstime.com

  Dedication

  For my parents.

  Because you gave me life, my words live on these pages, immortal.

  Acknowledgments

  There are two professionals who helped me whip this manuscript in shape: my editor, Kai Wilson, and my proofreader, Jackie Jones. Kai is a woman whose expertise in the written word, coupled with her work ethic, made for a pleasant experience in the editing process. Jackie is a lettered woman with the English language and a delight to work with.

  Just in case my family was in any doubt how much space in my heart they own, I will mention them here. Ed, David, Johnathan, Joseph, Julia, Jackie, Jackie the Younger, Alex, Grace, Patty, Ryan, and Joey, thank you for your love and support.

  Lastly, I must mention my husband, who owns my heart for eternity. Darling, there is no one in the universe whom I could enjoy more. Thank you for your unconditional love.

  Note To the Reader

  Guardian of Time is the second book in The Prophecies series. The adventures herein will take you through five countries in the future year of 2015, with a few flashbacks to earlier times. I suggest that you pay attention to the chapter headings, to help keep your bearings.

  Prologue

  The Year 2015

  Paul and I agreed to meet on the plane at the Bellingham terminal to avoid any suspicion that we were flying together. I dropped Lulu off at Aunt Saundra’s for the day. She and I had a very early breakfast together, visiting.

  While driving to the airport, I decided to call Bob. I had a particular question for him.

  “Hello?”

  “Well aren’t I a lucky girl to get you to answer your phone?” I teased.

  “I think the luck is mine,” Bob replied, sweet-talking me.

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The location. Why were they a target?”

  “The building was built with a full basement—unusual for that part of Shanghai, since it was prone to typhoon floods. We’d always watched it, because of activity there.”

  “But why is it a target now?”

  “You should know the answer to that, Ann.”

  “You mean that what I originally saw was again taking place the day of my dream?” I said, remembering that the first time I remote viewed into the Bund hotel, there was a meeting in the basement.

  Because of Yang Li’s loss of his soulmate, he built the basement so that the Chinese underground could fight against the establishment, I suddenly recalled from my dream.

  “Presumably so. I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it’s very likely.”

  “I understand. Thank you, Bob.”

  “Ann?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Now I have something to ask you.”

  “What is it?” I asked, curious.

  “Have you been traveling recently, eh?” he asked with a Canadian interjection.

  “You know, it’s very rainy there,” I replied, unwilling to answer his question on an unsecured phone.

  “It certainly is,” he responded forcefully.

  “Was there anything else?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t press me.

  “Ann, be careful. Ask yourself why I would be asking the question in the first place.”

  “Okay, Bob.”

  “Stay dry, Ann.”

  “Bye.”

  Hanging up, I was shaken by his question. The only way Bob could know about my connection to the Canadian RFID hack was if the other agency was remote viewing it.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now,” I said out loud, trying to reassure myself.

  I arrived at Bellingham airport at eight AM, parked, and was in the terminal checkin line by eight-ten. That was a benefit to the tiny airport; I only had to show up an hour before the flight. As I was waiting in line, my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ann, it’s Paul.”

  “Hey there,” I said cheerfully.

  “I’m not going to be able to make it. I’ve been at the company since five this morning. We had a server crash. I thought I’d be able to get it back up in time, but it’s more complicated than that.”

  “That’s okay. I know where I’m going. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Okay, bye,” he said, sounding stressed and rushed.

  “Bye.”

  I was looking forward to his company and being able to meet with GOG together. I stepped forward to check in for the flight. After checkin, I had about a half-hour before my flight would board, so I decided to call Elinor at college.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Mom,” I said, exuberant that I had caught her instead of voicemail.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I had a few minutes and thought I’d check in and see how you and your sweetie are.”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice, Mom. We are both great, terrific actually.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad, Elinor.”

  We talked for about fifteen minutes. Elinor caught me up on school details and what she and Eliott had been up to. He hadn’t popped the question yet, but Elinor was sure he was ring shopping.

  “Mom, I love you and miss you.”

  “I love you too,” I said. “Tell Eliott ‘hi’ for me, and give him a hug. You two take care of each other,” I said.

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I loved my little girl. Maybe she wasn’t little anymore, but she would always be my sweet little girl.

  They called for the flight to board, and I stepped into the line. It was a short flight to Seattle, only twenty-five minutes—a prop plane for this route. I never really kne
w whether I’d get a bumpy ride on this hop or not, but today the skies looked clear. As we took to the air, I looked out the window and saw the San Juan Islands below. Seeing them from the air always made me tenderly remember sailing the islands with Armond and Elinor in those perfect days. About ten minutes into the flight, we entered a Seattle-area storm, and the turbulence began. I always noticed how other passengers who didn’t fly this route regularly would look a little green at this point. My own gut was rock solid, whether I was in heavy turbulence flying or in rough ocean swells below. This flight seemed like a roller-coaster ride, unexpected and fun.

  When we landed at Seattle airport, some passengers were definitely peaked. After letting those who seemed in a hurry go in front of me, I exited onto the tarmac and walked up the stairs to the terminal. I looked for my gate; it wasn’t far from my arrival gate, and I only had twenty minutes to wait before it started to board. I did some people watching, which was always fun. Seattle was such an eclectic city, filled with all sorts of colorful people.

  We finally started to board the jet for Portland, and it looked like a completely full flight. Sinéad had moved me into the window seat of the emergency exit. It was the perfect place to sit because it had the most legroom, and there were no seats in front to recline and take up all my space. I didn’t care if it was a full flight, as long as I had my window seat and some legroom.

  The takeoff was a little rough, due to the storm that had moved in. The sky was dark. We had some turbulence during the flight, but it wasn’t horrible. Being in a Boeing 717 commuter jet was much better than being in a prop plane.

  “So what are you doing in Portland?” the blond woman next to me asked.

  “Just going down for a day trip,” I replied, giving no information.

  “I’m going down for a meeting…” she offered, trying to generate conversation.

  “And who do you work for?” I asked, obliging.

  “Microsoft. I direct sales for a new product line,” she replied, boasting.

  She’s doing well at Microsoft, I thought, looking at her.

  Blondie was about my age and height, but she looked a little anorexic. She quite obviously had some plastic surgery help with her bosom, as I could see the outline of her ribs, below her size D. Blondie wore enormous diamonds in her engagement and wedding rings, a diamond bracelet, and though I couldn’t tell for certain, I was sure her clothes came from an expensive designer.

  She continued, “I do well there, but I have a two-year-old daughter, and I wish I didn’t have to travel so much, so I could spend more time with her. Right now, I think she spends more time with the nanny than with me.”

  “Oh, that’s sad,” I said sincerely, looking at her.

  “I know. It took four series of in-vitro fertilization before it took, and now that I have her, it’s just so much work! I don’t know what I’d do without the nanny,” she said, perplexed.

  For twenty minutes, Blondie continued exposing her personal information, telling me how her husband wasn’t that interested in sex since she had their child and how difficult her team at Microsoft was to deal with. I tuned out, being ill-equipped to lend compassion to this woman who was my antithesis. I realized that we hadn’t even exchanged names. It was only a fifty-minute flight, but she was quickly exhausting me.

  Forty minutes into the flight, we started bouncing all over the sky. Other passengers near me were visibly disturbed, as was Blondie; I could tell from her white knuckles as she gripped our joint armrest. It was the worst turbulence I had ever been in. I knew it was pretty bad by the silence from the pilot and copilot. I rode the swells. My neighbor abruptly stopped talking, which I was grateful for.

  Our plane was not only dropping altitude from time to time, but it was listing and pitching, seemingly uncontrollably. I watched out the window, and as I did so, our jet took a direct hit from lightning—right on the wing—close to my window. It blinded me and lighted up the inside of the plane. I immediately felt energy move through the wing and into the cabin; I had never felt anything like that before. At that same moment, thunder overcame every other sound, including the jet engines; I could feel the deep sound resonate in my chest. My seatmate grabbed my arm and squeezed, cutting her faux nails into my flesh. Immediately after the lightening hit, the pitching became more radical. Passengers panicked, huddling close to their seatmates out of fear. My seatmate was pushing her shoulder against mine, and she held onto my arm for dear life. Her foot was pushed up on the seat in front of her, trying to stabilize her skinny frame from the lurching.

  Not long after the strike, the pilot came over the speaker, saying, “Yes folks, we were just hit by lightning, but we’ve checked out all our systems, and everything is operational. We are continuing into Portland. Since we’re still in turbulence, stay seated.”

  “Turbulence?” one passenger behind us shouted incredulously.

  We were still jumping all over the sky, and I thought my blond companion was going to barf all over me.

  As our jet was on approach for Portland airport, we were still lurching up and down. Just before the wheels touched down, the jet suddenly pitched, starting to turn sideways, one wing up and one wing down, and we began to twist, as though we would cartwheel sideways.

  The cabin filled with the terror of people praying, screaming, and crying. Luggage large and small tumbled from the overhead bins and was thrown all over the cabin. I dodged someone’s purse and turned to look out my window. The wing was about to hit the tarmac.

  I was surprised that I felt no fear.

  Instead, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace. I knew that we would not live through the crash, and in a nanosecond I remembered flashes from my life with Armond, Elinor, Dad, Aunt Saundra, and others. Falling in love in São Paulo…Elinor’s birth…sailing the San Juans in the Woohoo…kayaking with Orcas…the Red Sea restaurant…swing dancing at Glen Echo park…skiing….

  Then I remembered Armond’s last words. “The Herkimer,” he’d said. “Believe….” And I reached up to feel the crystal hanging from the chain around my neck.

  Chapter 1

  IN THE SKIES ABOVE PORTLAND, OREGON

  The Year 2015

  The pilot tried to pull the plane out of the nearly sideways cartwheel. The Boeing monster groaned and shook violently, resisting the pilot’s determination to free it from gravity.

  My hand held the phantom Herkimer on its chain around my neck, and I remembered the power this crystal had created in my life. I brought it back from a dream into the physical world. It had increased my paranormal abilities and the clarity of my mental focus. Holding it tight, I imagined the plane pulling out of the near forty-five-degree angle we hung in.

  Passengers grabbed onto each other as the jet quivered, straining. Calm washed over me, as my seatmate clutched me in a death grip. I didn’t tell her that it would be all right; I didn’t think we’d make it out alive. All around me I heard crying, panic, and praying. By some miracle, the pilot kept us airborne.

  The engines continued to protest loudly. I strained to pull my head away from my seat to see the passengers on the other wing, which was now nearly above me. I thought impassively that it was unnatural for them to be hanging in their seats like that. Unexpectedly, the feeling of utter joy suddenly filled my entire being, radiating out from my heart; I felt full of glorious energy.

  Fighting gravity, I turned my head to look out my window. As I stared, I noticed that we had left the runway and were over grass now. That’s when I realized that my wing was now at least ten feet above the ground, even though the wings were still far from being level. We were seemingly gaining altitude, even though still askew. I breathed deeply.

  Time passed in an odd way—it felt like minutes had passed—but it could only have been seconds. Then I realized that the pilot was winning his battle with the 717. There were still panicked passengers, but others—like me—had kept their heads and figured out that we were not destined today. My seatmate opened her eyes, but she sti
ll held onto my arm, scared into dumb silence. Soon the wings became level, though we were still climbing very steeply.

  A flight attendant came over the intercom. “Passengers, if anyone is injured from debris, hit your call button right now. If someone sitting beside you is injured, please push the call button for them. We will come to you as soon as we can.” There was debris everywhere, and some passengers tried to pull things into their rows, so that the flight attendants could get through the isle.

  After gaining altitude for some time through violent turbulence, we finally leveled off, then the flight attendants began helping passengers. Finally the cabin sounds lessened and were replaced with quiet weeping by some people around me, including my seatmate.

  The pilot came over the speaker with a very sober voice.

  “We’ve checked all our systems, and they’re okay. As you can feel, we are still in a bit of turbulence, so stay buckled in your seats. The flight attendants tell me that we do have some injuries, but all of them appear minor. We’ll check in with you again shortly,” the captain said, trying to reassure the passengers.

  As we flew, the blood returned to all the normal parts of my body, and my mind tried to make sense of all that had just happened. Then, as though we had our reward for making it through the near-crash, the skies got calmer, the turbulence petered out, and the clouds below us seemed less menacing.

  Over the intercom, the pilot—who’s natural voice had returned—came back on. “Folks, we’re glad to tell you that the worst of the storm has moved away from Portland airport, so we’re turning back toward the airport…”