Falco

Book 0: The Gaia Trilogy

by Jeff Gardiner

Genres: YA Action & Adventure

Synopsis

Ancient powers are stirring. As Luke continues to develop his skills as Felis, he finds himself hunting, surviving and using feline instincts, as well as fine-tuning his powers over nature, becoming more powerful than he?d ever dreamed. However, Luke?s parents find him tearing away and struggle to understand how their son is changing so much ? not realising the true extent of it. When a miss-encounter forces him to leave home, he flies across the world and learns how to survive, meeting others who share his powers which opens up a new world to Luke, one he must learn to co-exist alongside.

Release date: November 10, 2016

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 169

Sample

PART ONE

Chapter One

My claws stick cleanly into the gnarled trunk; with such a good grip, I bound quickly to the top of the oldest oak tree in the park. I find a good branch and sit. In the darkness, I see colours vividly and sense movements with my whiskers. I can tell where birds and insects have been within the last few hours. They leave a trail: scent mixed with changes in colour and a faint pulse.

Up here, the boughs are thinner but I’ll need them to hold my human weight. A thick, forked branch will cope and I have no fear of falling, even as Luke. I relax, take a deep breath, and grow. Holding on is much harder without claws and I lose my balance once my tail disappears, so I haul myself into position again until I’m precariously balanced on the topmost branches. I manage to squint at the distant lights, wishing my human eyesight was as good as my numen’s.

This tree must stand higher than two houses. It could be a thousand years old. I try to imagine how different the view would have been then.

Trees possess such wisdom and knowledge. It’s awesome. As soon as I brush my cheek against the rough bark, I have an insight into being an ancient solitary giant. I’d felt this connection before.

‘Bloody hell, it’s cold up here.’ I’m naked in the wind and I become aware of pins and needles in my legs. I look at my hands and examine the stump of my missing finger. It seems so long ago – much more than just a few months.

Luke, imagine yourself as part of the tree, enclosed in leaves and foliage.

However daft they sound, I follow Guy’s instructions, having done so before with mind-blowing results.

I embrace the tree and use my imagination; tendrils suddenly shoot out from the trunk, wrapping around me. It doesn’t strike me as odd; in fact, I expected it. Leaf buds grow and open in fast motion, covering my nakedness. The sprigs continue winding, sending thickening branches about me like armour until my body is entirely clad in glossy leaves. It feels comfortable and natural. And most importantly, I’m warm.

The countless stars remind me of my insignificance. Gusts of wind press me to one side but I stand firm. The hardest bit is letting go.

Let the wind grow stronger until you hear the whistling of it in the tree. Then we’ll join its sky dance. Guy’s ‘voice’ is a clear mixture of words and images in my head, quite independent to my own thoughts.

I close my eyes and prepare for the madness. Sometimes you just have to let go and be crazy.

Now!

I scream. I always scream. It expresses thrill, joy, fear, and absolute freedom. There’s nothing like it.

At first, you hurl outwards. With a growing panic, you feel yourself plunge downwards, certain you’ll die. Then the wind or a thermal collects you and you have to relax into it. Like swimming. Now I have to trust air currents. Guy tells me the best shapes to make for certain manoeuvres. He guides me towards the rising patches of heat, invisible to my eyes. He can sense streams and uplifts, however small they are. Guy has taught me the pockets and troughs to avoid until we gain the height to rush through the wispy, low clouds.

On each descent, I can’t hear myself scream, but my throat is dry and aching. It’s lucky Guy’s words are not communicated by sound or I’d die, unable to hear his instructions. I know when Guy is talking to me because they’re not ideas I’ve formed; they flick into my brain as realisations.

Lean back and left. Put out your right arm. Now pull it in.

Each little adjustment makes a big difference. I quickly learn about aerodynamics: airflow, drag, pitch, roll, and yaw.

After a good soar, swoop, and float, I begin to feel shakily exhausted, but content.

Now, for the hardest part. The part I haven’t mastered yet.

Find the lake and make the adjustments as you fall.

And that’s what landing is, really: controlled falling. I don’t have the wings to give me enough stability to stop myself from hurtling down incredibly quickly.

As long as we hit the water, we’re fine.

We. It’s the first time I’ve been aware of Guy using the word. I’m no longer an individual but two people. How much of me does he share?

The distraction is welcome until we pass through the cloud cover and I see the ground rushing towards me. No, that’s wrong. I’m the one tumbling out of control – towards it. The lake still looks a long way off.

Relax. You’re less likely to die if you relax.

It’s not helping.

Guy has me in the right direction again as the water – an iridescent black with stars reflected in its ripples – gets closer. At the last second, I curl into a ball and smash into the searing coldness. Desperate to breathe, I kick and struggle manically. Down here, it’s completely black so I have no visual clues. My body is numb and I can’t tell if I’m moving in the water, drowning on the bottom, or suspended midway. My first clue that I haven’t died is when I feel my hands break the surface and react to the cold wind. Then my head emerges into the breathable air. I gasp, splutter, and laugh until my stomach squeezes itself into an unbearable cramp. I possess enough energy to doggy-paddle myself to a nearby wooden fishing jetty. My numb hands only just grip the wooden boards and I manage to clamber out. My verdant jumpsuit has fewer leaves on it now and the cold wind easily finds its way through the gaps. I rip it off, shake myself in the frozen winds, and transform into Felis.

Even with fur, it takes a while to feel its benefit as I scamper home, leap onto the fence, the windowsill, through the open window, and finally into my warm bedroom.

A clicking noise forces me to come to. It’s dark and stifling beneath the duvet and I’m snuggly and warm, all curled up. More noises follow. Footsteps and a voice: my mum.

‘Morning, lovely. It’s Monday. Time to get up.’

Damn. I’d forgotten about school.

‘You OK, Luke?’

I hear the curtains being pulled open and Mum’s footsteps. I remain woozy – wondering if I’m ill and could blag a day off. I look out from under the duvet, still groggy.

Light suddenly erupts into my eyes and I look up to see Mum’s confused face.

‘What on earth...?’

I hear my dad leave his bedroom in response to Mum’s words.

‘What’s up, love?’

‘There’s a bloody strange cat in Luke’s bed.’

‘What the...’

‘Where the hell is Luke? Is he downstairs?’

Dad approaches and starts hitting me. I think about changing but in my panic, I can’t. Or don’t.

‘Get out! Scram! Sod off! Bloody thing.’

I lash out with my claws but miss. Then I snarl and hunch back, unable to think straight.

Mum stares into space.

‘Where’s Luke? Why has he brought a stray cat into the house?’

Dad has no answers.

‘Let’s wait and see. There’s bound to be a rational explanation. Maybe he’s gone out for a walk or something. Perhaps he sneaked out and got drunk with some mates and crashed at someone’s house, the sort of thing I did at his age. Let’s not jump to conclusions. He’s been acting pretty odd recently, going out all the time.’

‘Why couldn’t he have a mobile like everyone else?’ Her voice is beginning to falter. Why the hell can’t I change?

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions.’

‘Do we call the police?’ Mum asks breathlessly. ‘Especially after what happened to Guy.’

‘Don’t be daft. You watch, love. He’ll come sauntering through that front door and say he’s been for a jog or something, and we’ll all be laughing.’

Dad hisses at me and I scamper to the corner of the room.

Caught off guard! I’d been too interested in feeling sorry for myself to be aware of movement around me. The deep, guttural growl from the doorway comes from Frisky. He’d finally detected my presence and I’m in his territory. Up to now, I’d avoided him as Felis and had always dreaded this moment. What scares me the most is that I can’t transform into Luke.

Guy? Are you there? I could really do with some help.

Trust your instincts, Luke.

Frisky stalks forward, eyes wide and mouth open. The noise he makes turns into a hiss. I can’t decide if it’s better to hide behind an object or be out in the open, ready to strike back. I look up to see if my path to the window is clear. I have to escape as quickly as possible. Outside, I can run and he’ll probably give up the chase. In his mind, he just needs me to leave his territory. All the time I’m here, I’m in danger of being hurt... or worse.

I start backing off in the direction of the unlocked window, but Frisky decides to spring up incredibly high and cut off my route. Whether he does this knowingly or if it’s an unfortunate coincidence isn’t clear.

Frisky suddenly goes on the offensive, taking a bound towards me while lashing out with his claws. They just miss my cringing head but give him a dominant position, only inches away. His crazy stare unnerves me. I’m close enough to lash out, but he towers over me. I remain flattened against the floor. Part of me doesn’t want to hurt him, but I fear for my life and have to defend myself.

Getting past him becomes my priority.

He begins the yowling. This is his warning. I return the sound in a higher pitch, and then back off again; this time in the opposite direction, hoping he’ll sense victory and ease off. If I offer no threat he might relent and give me the opportunity to make my escape. But Frisky proves an obstinate foe.

Instead, I find myself backed into a corner, with Frisky’s eyes even wilder. Then, with no warning, he attacks. The force of his assault knocks me over and he slides in with claws to the fore, grabbing my ear and the top of my head in his jaws, kicking his back legs furiously against my belly. He’s crushing my skull and ripping open my skin. His bite squeezes until my eyes are about to burst. The pain is intense. The relentless tearing at my stomach makes me yowl again – a sound I keep going without taking a breath. It’s hard to think or breathe. I copy Frisky’s ripping motion and dig my claws into the side of his face. This forces him to let go and I nip at his ear. We both fly upwards, still attached to each other, and I manage to flip over and land on top of Frisky. This knocks the wind out of him and affords me a split-second chance to dash for the window.

With all the strength I have left, I hurl myself at the windowsill, land neatly, and paw open the window. It swings open slightly and I squeeze my head through. Once that’s out, I know my body will follow. The fresh air gives me renewed energy, so I leap straight onto the grass, tumbling slightly, and use the momentum to complete a short dash and stretch up my front claws for the top of the opposite fence. The claws sink in and I scramble my hind legs up to follow. Energy spent, I fall limp, hoping my claws will hold me up. Hissing tells me that Frisky is right behind me, jumping up to grab any part of me. He manages to claw my back leg, making it sting. I haul again. I’m scared my claws will rip out, but I have to keep going. Frisky once again leaps up for my tail when I decide to spray him.

While he falls back, temporarily blinded, I manage to struggle my way to the top of the fence and, from there, I clamber onto the shed. This gives me a few seconds to get my breath back. My head, belly, and leg all sting. Blood drips from my tummy, matting my fur. I hope that now I’m out of the garden, Frisky might give up. No such luck.

He appears like magic. Frisky isn’t giving up on me. He looks crazed and I can’t be certain how far he’ll take this. Bleeding or not I have to look after myself. Crouching down, I take what I hope he’ll read as a position of submission. I need him to think he’s beaten me. Then, as he arches his back, I let fly. I scratch his eyes and sink my fangs into his throat. We roll over and over in a deathly embrace, landing with a bump onto the garden lawn. He claws uselessly at me, and I have control. I gnash and this time I taste his blood in my mouth.

Standing astride my foe, I turn wild. I lose any sense of self-control I possessed as a human. I strike him again and again. I tear his windpipe out. Frisky falls limp beneath me; the soil around us smeared red. Fur floats about, settling on us and wafting on the breeze.

Frisky is dead and I’m in great pain. I have no doubts that he would have killed me. The fury in his eyes had been terrifying. It’s hard to tell which pool of blood is his. All I know is that my wounds hurt like crazy. Everything around me goes out of focus as I lie there, vaguely aware of shouting and movements nearby. I’m encased in a shimmering white haze, before sound and vision slowly fade back to me.

My limbs and body don’t respond. I can only flick my tail and turn my head.

Above me, I see my dad, his face a mask of lines and his lips tight over his clamped teeth. He’s holding something above his head threateningly. A shovel. My God! He’s going to kill me!

Dad! It’s me!

I know I can’t leap or roll out of the way so I close my eyes and, as calmly as I can, imagine myself as Luke.

I don’t want to die!

And the miracle happens...

I cringe and snarl in a spasm as my head and body split open to enable me to grow. My limbs lengthen, my chest swells, and my skin stretches, furless and white all over.

Dad’s eyes bulge as he stands open-mouthed.

Mum comes into view, staring in horror.

‘Luke? Oh my God...’

‘What the hell just happened...?’

‘It’s Luke. He’s hurt.’

‘What the...’

‘Luke? Are you OK? Oh God, please tell me he’s alive!’

‘We need to help him.’

‘Call an ambulance.’

‘We can’t just leave him here...’ Dad is always practical.

He manages to haul me up over his shoulder and lower me onto the sofa.

‘Get a blanket, some warm water, and towels.’

Mum soon gets to work, dabbing my bleeding skin, sobbing as she does so.

‘I don’t know what the hell is going on, but just hang in there, OK?’

‘What about an ambulance? Shall I still phone them?’ Dad stands back, looking anxious. ‘What exactly do we tell them? If we tell them what happened they’ll chuck us in a loony bin.’

‘I don’t understand it either,’ Mum replies. ‘But he’s breathing and conscious. Perhaps he’ll be all right if we see to him ourselves. I’ll dress the cuts and clean him, then perhaps we can go to the hospital later or tomorrow.’

‘We need to keep a close eye on him.’

‘Course. Perhaps you should clean up the mess in the garden.’

Dad stays where he is, looking dazed.

‘Right. Yeah. You OK here, then?’

Mum nods.

I drift in and out of consciousness. Mum carefully washes my wounds and puts cream and stinging lotions on my cuts. She binds my belly and arms in bandages and puts plasters on my ear and forehead. I must look a right state.

Aware of my parents’ constant attention, I trust them to look after me. I don’t even have the energy to call on Guy, who seems to have abandoned me.

I lie on that sofa for nearly two days. My brain remains fuzzy, unable to initiate a conve. . .