Avisha

  AVISHA

  Book 1 of the Fallen Moral Guardians

  By Vi Lily

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  S INCE THE moment the angelic host were created, they knew if any ever went against the Creator, the punishment would be severe. That was a given, but the entire host knew it would be a just and righteous punishment. The Creator was unrelenting in meting out judgment when necessary, but he was merciful.

  The punishment always fit the crime.

  Avisha came to have first-hand knowledge of that punishment after he received orders to destroy the village he'd been assigned to oversee.

  It was an inconceivable directive. He'd carefully watched over the people in that thriving village for nearly a century, observing their comings and goings, covertly rescuing and helping when necessary, cheering their accomplishments and mourning their losses. They'd become a part of him, and he liked to imagine that he, too, had become a part of them, in some way, even though he was as invisible to them as the wind.

  He was expected to ignore the relationship—if one could call it that—and just annihilate the people. His people. Understandably, he'd balked.

  Avisha tried to reason through the Creator's directive, but the orders made no sense. Why would he be sent to guard the villagers, protect them and guide them, only to turn around and wipe them out?

  And so, he'd refused to carry out the order. Another was sent in his place who didn't care about the villagers, didn't care that Avisha cared about their well-being.

  Much later, after his punishment was decreed and he was miserably living out his sentence, Avisha discovered that the next generation of villagers—the children and grandchildren of those he'd been ordered to destroy—were going to become some of the worst scourge ever to walk the earth. Murderers, rapists, child molesters…deviants in every way possible, they would have terrorized the entire country, destroying innocent lives and leaving death and destruction in their wake. The order to kill the handful had been given to spare thousands from a worse fate.

  A hard lesson that the Creator knew exactly what he was doing.

  The punishment for an angel who refused direct orders was dependent on the severity of the crime. For Avisha, whose intentions were good—albeit misguided—in refusing to follow orders, the penalty was much less.

  But the sanction was the same, regardless. Disobedient angels—known as the Fallen Moral—who were still on the side of good had to assume bodies of flesh and walk the earthly realm as creatures, not men.

  Indefinitely.

  Because of the Creator's merciful nature, though, he allowed the Fallen to have the ability to take the form of man as a reward for good behavior. If, while in creature form, the Fallen Moral served mankind, helped and protected them from the evils in the earthly realm, then they would be allowed to become human for a period of time.

  Most of the Fallen Moral took great advantage of this, performing as many good deeds as they could so they had the ability to shift from creature to man at whim. Walking as a man sometimes had its advantages. It was a respite from walking the Earth in a lowly form, at least.

  Or flying above it, as in Avisha's case.

  Others, though, became embittered and angry over their punishment and refused to lift a finger to help man. Avisha eventually found himself in this category; as millennia after millennia passed and man grew more depraved and heartless. He found it repugnant to lend any help to such worthless and undeserving creatures.

  Why should he help mankind, when they were so bent on destroying each other? In a fit of anger, he'd helped them in their destruction.

  Because of his hard heart, the Creator decided Avisha could sit atop a mountain and think about his attitude for a few centuries…while encased in stone. If and when he was ready to rethink his point of view regarding the human race, then he would be released from his mineral prison.

  Avisha figured he'd crumble to dust before that happened.

  Chapter 1

  T HREE YEARS, two months and twelve days—the time I've been running. Not that I'm counting.

  But it's easy to keep track of my "flight time," as I like to think of it. It started the day my baby sister was born, the day I had basically grabbed the infant from between my mother's thighs and ran. As fast and as far as I could. I never looked back. I couldn't.

  So I have no idea if our parents are still alive. Fingers crossed, they're not.

  I'm not some kind of psycho who wants her parents dead—well, I do, but it's not what it seems like.

  Mom and Dad should have killed themselves right after I left with the baby; that was the backup plan anyway. The original plan was for us all to leave together, but if Mom's labor was too hard on her and she was too weak, then Plan B was for me to take off with the baby by myself, and for our parents to…

  I don't even like thinking about it, honestly. I have resigned myself to the fact that Carlie and I are now orphans.

  I know Carlie and I should have died with them; it was the logical answer. But my parents couldn't bring themselves to murder their children. And frankly, I have no desire to die…and for Carlie to die? No. Nope. Nada. Never.

  At least, not in my lifetime.

  It's just a matter of time before my enemies kill me, though. I'm exhausted. The current chase has kept me running—literally—for what seems like days. My legs ache with each pounding step and my arms feel like throbbing lead weights. Carlie isn't an infant any longer and carrying her is getting harder with each passing day that she grows bigger and I don't.

  I can tell the ATVs are getting closer and I fight off a moment of panic when I think they'll catch us. But then I see a break in the thick brush and I turn and dart between some close-growing trees. The space is too tight for the vehicles to fit through.

  Too late, I realize that the trees were hiding a steep hill. The near constant Scottish rain this time of year makes the peaty soil even more slippery. As I lose my footing, I yelp and hug my sister to my chest, then lean back, so I can take the beating over rocks and tree stumps and not her.

  We slip and slide down a muddy path all the way to the bottom of the hill, thankfully while avoiding the largest trees and rocks. If I'm injured, Carlie won't stand a chance. She'd be captured before I can even yelp in pain.

  And then mankind would be pretty much screwed.

  As soon as my feet hit the bottom of the hill, I stand and start running to the west, but I don't get more than a dozen yards when a cleft in the rock catches my eye. Just below it is an opening, barely visible.

  A cave! Without much thought I run over to it, thankful that the ATVs will take some time to navigate through the trees and down the hill. We're still out of their sight.

  The cave is barely more than a dent in the side of the hill, just big enough for the two of us to hide. But as we squeeze into the opening, I think about the situation. If we hide, the men chasing us will search the area until they eventually find us.

  There is no way I can let them find Carlie.

  I look back toward the direction the ATVs will come from. A lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill at the realization of what I'm going to have to do. A sob escapes my lips then.

  I have no other options though. It's a choice between terrible and "end of the world horrible." So terrible it is. I clear my throat against the emotion threatening to choke me.

/>   "Carlie-girl, I'm going to leave you here in this hidey hole. It's a special fairy house, so you'll be safe as long as you're as quiet as a mouse, okay? Remember—"

  "Fairies only whisper," she dutifully repeats the words I have used so often to keep my little sister quiet while we hide from the enemy.

  When I was her age, I was obsessed with dragons; for my little sister, it's fairies. Whenever I have to hide her in less than ideal places—like that cubby in the barn we hid in a few days back that housed so many spiders I swear I can still feel them crawling on me—I always lie to her and tell her it's a fairy house. I dread the day when Carlie is old enough to know better.

  My "fairy tales" are definitely better than the truth.

  "That's right, baby," I tell the precious child that means more to me than life itself. I brush her dark, wavy hair back over her shoulders and kiss her forehead while I choke on my tears. This is the first time I've ever had to leave her behind, the first time in three plus years that we'll be separated. She's literally been by my side every minute of her life.

  It's killing me to leave her now.

  Her tummy growls then and she giggles, breaking the surface of the emotional pool I'm drowning in. I smile at her as I pull a package of crackers out of her backpack and hand it to her.

  "Here, feed your monster," I tease. That's our game—grumbling tummies means monsters. It helps Carlie to not be so afraid of the imaginary things that go bump in the night. So far, it's worked. Carlie isn't afraid of much. Probably because she's had to deal with fear so much in her short life.

  I hurry to help her open the package as she struggles with it, then I pat her head. There isn't time for a long goodbye, and I'm about to lose it again…something I don't want her to see.

  Despite my best efforts to keep my crap together, my voice cracks. "I'll be back just as soon as I can."

  I hope I'm not lying to my sister with that statement. I know it's a real possibility that I'll either be captured or killed. Diversified Engineered Environments doesn't need me alive and a dead body is easier to transport than a live one. Dr. Smythe, the head of DEE, has threatened me with that statement enough times for it to have sunk in, deep.

  My heart lurches at the realization that if I'm caught or killed, Carlie will likely die. Exposure, starvation…or something worse. The thought of that makes me want to vomit, but I know that in Carlie's case, any death is preferable to capture and life in the DEE laboratory.

  Not only for her, but the rest of humanity, as well.

  Thankfully, Carlie isn't aware of my conflict as she dutifully squirms to the back of the hole. At least the inside of the tiny cave is dry. She then takes her backpack off and unzips it to pull her favorite fairy doll and pink blankie out.

  That bright pink thing with the kittens all over it is the only colorful thing we own. Our clothes, sleeping bags, tent—everything else is camouflage colors—browns, greens and tan. The drab colors are a necessity when hiding outdoors, as we usually do. But I wasn't able to deny my little sister when she'd begged for the soft pink fleece. It's her favorite color.

  Someday, someway, I'll see that she has her own bedroom and I'm going to make sure every stinking thing in it is pink.

  "Maisy, we gots to be real quiet, 'kay?" Carlie whispers to her doll as she wraps the blanket around them. She then kisses the doll's forehead like I had just done to her. The sight of that causes a lump in my throat the size of an Italian fig, but I brush off the tear that slips down my cheek and scoot out of the opening.

  "I love you baby girl," I whisper as I stand, the center of my chest splintering into a million heart-shaped shards. I choke back the tears, though. Not only do I not want Carlie to see me break down, but also I seriously hate crying.

  Some bushes are growing near the cave, so I cut a few branches off with my knife and prop them over the hole, hiding it from the outside world. It's the best I can do, and I pray that I'll be able to find the hole again.

  If I'm still free. And alive.

  I wiggle out of my heavy backpack then and pull it around to my front, then put the straps over my shoulders. The thing weighs more than my sister, but it holds all our worldly possessions. I snort. What a joke. Being on the run means traveling light, even though "light" in our case means sixty pounds.

  It's no wonder I'm exhausted after running for so long. The backpack plus Carlie and her pack weigh over one hundred pounds…about what I weigh myself. Lugging your own body weight around is enough to wear anyone out.

  As I start running again, I grunt at the effort of holding the backpack up with my arms. The straps in that position aren't taking the weight like they were designed to when hanging on the back, but I hope that the men—"DEE-men" I like to call them—will think I'm still carrying my sister when they spot me.

  Continuing on toward the west, I try to pay attention to landmarks so I can find the hole again. Hopefully, I'll get the chance…and soon.

  I tell myself that Carlie will be fine for a week in that hole…physically, anyway. But being alone in a cave in the woods that long when you're barely more than a toddler? That's going to screw with her emotionally and mentally, big time.

  I cringe as this big ol' sledgehammer of guilt whacks my heart and I have to remind myself it's for the best…and it's my only option.

  She won't starve any time soon, at least. Carlie carries her own freeze-dried food packets and both our backpacks are specially designed to hold a gallon of water in the frame. I've trained her to conserve food and water too. She also has several dozen glow sticks to chase the dark away at night. With all the supplies she carries, her own pack weighs a good ten pounds. It's a lot of weight for a three-year-old.

  No wonder I end up carrying her so often. And why it's no surprise that I'm so thin and muscular. When we aren't literally running from the bad guys, I train constantly. Long distance running—with Carlie in a baby backpack that she's fast out-growing—plus mixed martial arts my dad had taught me, along with whatever weight I can find to lift, my body is in peak athletic condition. I don't exercise for any vain reason, or for health. It's only because we sometimes have to run for our lives and I need to be able to. Run, I mean.

  Like today.

  I kick myself for the thousandth time in the past eight hours for letting the DEE-men catch up to us. I shrug to myself then. I could use the excuse of lack of sleep, since the last time I've slept more than an hour was…what? Two days ago? Sounds about right.

  That was when we were on the train from England to Scotland. The Birmingham to Thurso trip turned out to be a twenty-hour ordeal. But even then I had only managed to catch snatches of sleep—one hour here, a couple there. We'd had to change trains four times and with every change came new people…and new reasons to be on the alert.

  Did I already say I'm exhausted?

  Ever since that day in Norway when my dad gave my mom some drug to make her labor start early so she could have Carlie at home and not in DEE's labs like she was supposed to, where the baby would be snatched up and become a lab rat, I've been running.

  With a sigh, I try to turn off my inner whiny dialog, but it's impossible at the moment. I'm tired of running, tired of the fear of getting caught, tired of worrying about how all this is affecting Carlie, tired of…well, just tired. Rest would be nice. Peace, too. That would be good.

  Getting to be a normal teenager—that would be awesome.

  I had to give up my friends from DEE when I took off. I hadn't even been able to tell them I was going. We never knew when Dr. Smythe was listening, and most of us knew he had planted bugs all over the labs. Probably all over Norway, actually. Maybe even all of Scandinavia. Just couldn't take the chance he'd get wind of our plan to run with the baby, so my parents and I hadn't said anything to anyone.

  My parents and I had discussed the plan amongst ourselves through notes that we passed and then immediately burned. Call it paranoia, but it was necessary.

  Even though living at DEE sucked ass, I miss my
friends like crazy. And now I'd give anything to be able to just hang out, to "chill," with some others my age. Maybe make new friends, joke around, laugh.

  And to eat whatever I wanted. With the crazy amount of exercise I get, calories aren't an issue. But I have to eat tons of protein to keep my muscles healthy. I would love to gain some weight and soften my body, actually. I'm tired of people thinking I'm a boy.

  I snort at my thoughts as I leap over a small boulder. Like it matters what others think of me. All that does matter is keeping Carlie out of the hands of DEE. That's the absolute best thing I can do.

  My own needs and desires have to take a backseat—way at the back of the bus.

  The drone of the ATVs' engines snaps me back to the present situation. They're getting closer. My instinct is to dart back into the thick cover of the trees, to hide. But I want to make sure the men see me to draw them away from Carlie and so I force myself to keep in sight.

  I keep running along the base of the hill where the trees are sparse. As soon as they clear the hill and spot me, though, I'm going to turn and head right into the thick woods and find a tree to climb. It's my experience that people never look up. Not unless they're bird watchers.

  I wish I'd had enough of a head start to climb a tree with my sister and wait the men out. We've done that before and once we stayed high up in an oak tree for three days and nights until the searchers had given up. I'm thankful the DEE-men morons have never thought to use search dogs. The day they do, I'll bury my knife in my sister's head. And my own immediately after.

  Gruesome, I know, but believe me, murder-suicide is better than being captured by DEE.

  With those awful thoughts in my head, I race along as my aching feet quickly eat up the distance. I figure at the rate I run, I could probably try out for an Olympic track team. Gold medal contender, for sure. For what country, though? That's the big question. I really don't belong to any one country in particular. Born in Norway to American parents…and Carlie and I have lived all over the place. Never anywhere for long.