The waymans code, p.1
The Wayman's Code, page 1
The Wayman's Code
Awakening
R.J. Wilson
BookTorch Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2022 by R.J. Wilson
Cover art done by Julia Rohwedder. Her portfolio can be found at juliarohwedder.myportfolio.com
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by BookTorch Publishing
www.rjwilsonwrites.com
Contents
Dedication
The Royal Symbol
Epigraph
1. Invisible Watchers
2. Emissary from Another World
3. Message Delivery
4. Secrets of the Scroll
5. Solid Rock
6. Lysa's Secret
7. Close Encounters
8. Floor Zero
9. Awakening
10. The Second Vision
11. Seven Lords of Death
12. The Mysterious Old Man
13. Family Business
14. The First Mission
15. A Dark Possession
16. Nightmare's Power
17. Inside Man
18. Executive Secrets
19. Revealing of the Masked One
20. Kidnapped
21. Secret MIssion
22. Dante's Reckless Plan
23. The Girl Called Rhema
24. The Officer's Suspicion
25. Rhema's Proposition
26. Ethan's Discovery
27. Rhema's Quest
28. Branded
29. Confrontation
30. Ben Olam
31. The Final Vision
32. Inauguration Day
33. Boyles' Ultimatum
34. Last Chance
35. The Ceremony
36. The Battle for Western North
37. Dyscord the Dead One
38. The Beginning of the End
39. A Future Written in Pencil
40. Unintended Consequences
41. Summit of the Dead Lords
Final Word
About the Author
In honor of my mother Deborah, who always believed her children could soar. May she rest in power.
"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." Ephesians 6:12
Chapter 1
Invisible Watchers
“Listen to my words carefully,” I said, trying to maintain a whisper. “It’s absolute suicide. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
Dante leaned back in his desk chair, folding his thick arms. His green eyes narrowed as he looked towards the fluorescent lights, considering my words. I could see the gears turning in his mind.
I peeked over the backs of heads of the other students, stealing a glance at the beady eyed Mrs. Pickering, pacing, she droned about Homer. She had not yet spotted that we were committing the unforgivable sin—talking while she lectured.
“I have it all figured out,” Dante said, finally looking at me. He flashed a smile that made his light moustache curve over the edge of his upper lip. “Number one, my baseline is a fifty-fifty shot where the worst she can say is no. Number two, the girls at the top tier never get asked, which means she probably won’t have a date. That means my chances are higher than fifty-fifty. That means it’s Dante time.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. Lysa’s brown hair swept over Dante’s desk as she turned to stare at us.
“Shh. You guys are going to get us in trouble,” she said, bright blue eyes darting between us.
“No Lysa,” I said, “I’m trying to save him from trouble. Did you hear his plan? He’s gonna ask Estrella Acevedo to her senior prom. Senior prom!”
Lysa’s forehead wrinkled, the concern about the wrath of Mrs. Pickering appearing to be forgotten. “Dante, she’s the cutest girl in school and a senior. Why would she want to attend prom with a random sophomore?”
Dante gasped, clutching at his heart.
“Lysa, I’m hurt. How could you say such things?”
Her eyes widened, face becoming a tinge of pink. “Well, I didn’t mean… I wasn’t saying you look… your odds are bad, that’s all.”
“I’m kidding,” he said. “I know you secretly think my plan is awesome, so I’ll take the compliment.”
She rolled her eyes.
”As awesome as your plan is, there is a flaw,” I said. “Senior prom is still a month and a half away. Someone else has plenty of time to ask her.”
Dante scoffed. “Let me remind you of the math—,”
“Mr. Cirelli… Mr. Warden… Ms. Lyles… you three care to enlighten the class as to what could possibly be more exciting than ancient literature?”
Mrs. Pickering stared, lips pursed, eyes like daggers only magnified by her wire frames. The rest of the class silently turned as one, smelling the blood in the water. Heat grew behind my ears.
“Nothing, ma’am,” I said, “I was just telling Dante that Odysseus was a man’s man.”
A few snickers broke the tension.
“That he was,” she replied, still staring like a hawk, “so let’s focus more on his story than your own.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
She resumed her lecture and pacing. The students returned to their notebooks, bringing about the scratching silence of studious note taking.
“See,” Lysa accused in a hoarse whisper, “I told you.”
“I don’t care what she says, my chances are still at least fifty-fifty,” Dante said to me, pressing his finger on his temple like he did whenever he thought he had figured it all out.
English Lit moved at the speed of molasses. Staring at the black and white clock only made it appear to stand still, so I stared out the window instead. A nice blue sky broke up the white wisps being pushed along by the wind. The homes in the distance across the street were still and peaceful, absent from the chaos of the children who were still in school.
A black car reversed out of the driveway of a small white house. The red brake lights glinted in the sun as it backed. Glinted like little red eyes. Red eyes that were coming closer. Closer. Staring directly at me through the glass now, the eyes were set in something black and out of focus. Something like concentrated smoke but in the shape of a face.
My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at the disembodied pair of red eyes set in a face of black smoke and the pair of eyes stared back. They blinked. Narrowed. A crack appeared in the window and carved across the glass like it was being sliced by a sharp knife. The floating, smokey face bared long yellow fangs.
The bell rang and I jumped.
“Not so fast, Mr. Warden,” Mrs. Pickering called. “Everyone, remember that your report on chapter three is due Monday. Now you can go.” The silence of the class was broken with groans that soon morphed into excited conversation, shuffling chairs, and the gathering of belongings.
I glanced back at the window. The face had vanished. Jessica, sitting next to where the face appeared, was busy placing her blonde hair into a ponytail, completely oblivious to what just happened.
Or didn’t happen… I rubbed my eyes.
“By the end of the week, I’ll ask her,” Dante said as he packed up his belongings.
“Are you still on this prom thing?” Lysa snapped, “and today’s Thursday, there’s not much time left.”
I walked over to Jessica’s desk. She looked up.
“Hiya Maleek.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but immediately closed it. The crack in the window was still there.
“Maleek?”
That was impossible. It must have been a daydream. An Odyssey laced hallucination. There was no way a floating face appeared. Yet, here was the crack, running six inches across the window. I leaned over and brushed it with my fingertips. Smooth on the inside. That meant the crack was on the outside.
“Maleek.”
“Huh?” I looked down to realize I had leaned over Jessica’s desk and much too far into her personal space.
“You alright?” She asked, eyebrow raised, “you look like you saw a ghost.”
“Sorry,” I apologized, backing up quickly, “it was just… did you see...”
She continued to stare like I was a babbling mad man.
“Never mind. Sorry.” I backed away from her while she studied me. Embarrassment now overtook my curiosity about the scratch, and I returned to my things. I needed to shake it off. Forget about it. When I approached my desk, Dante and Lysa were still arguing over his failure of a plan.
“By the end of next week,” Dante said, “she’ll be putty in my hands.”
Lysa sighed.
“Where did you go?” She asked and peeked over at the now departing Jessica.
“He obviously was inspired by my bold plan and went to shoot his shot with Jessica,” Dante explained. “How was it? You guys set up a date?”
“What? No, it wasn’t like that,” I said. “Besides, when I do shoot my shot, I like to make sure it’s going to go in the basket before I toss it.”
Dante laughed. “That’s cold, man. Just you wait.”
“Well, if you two are done, we should hurry. I have student council in a few minutes,” Lysa crossed her arms, “then I have this paper to do and—”
I dropped my head and snored as she talked. She slapped my arm. We left the class, now being the last ones left, and headed to our lockers.
“Ok then, Mr. Fun, what will you be doing?” Lysa asked.
“I actually don’t have too much homework,” I replied, navigating through the sea of students in the hallway. A shirtless round boy darted past me, brushing against my right side while yelling the word “purple” at the top of his lungs. Down the hallway, a group of guys snickered and high-five’d each other in what I assumed was a dare.
“Greta will be at the house tomorrow,” I continued, “so I’ll have to spend most of the day getting my clothes together and doing that pre-clean of the house.”
“If Greta cleans anyway, why does your mom make you pre-clean?” Dante asked, as we descended to the first floor.
I shook my head and threw up my hands.
Lysa tsked. “It’s a common courtesy, Dante. Should he leave more of a mess, just because someone else will clean it?”
Dante shrugged. “Seems reasonable to me.”
Lysa rolled her eyes. “My meeting is going to start soon, so I should get going. Text me.” She pivoted right and hurried down the hall.
“I would kill to have someone else do all my household chores,” Dante said. “You’re winning all day with that one.”
Something inside my chest tightened, and I shot him a look before I could stop myself.
“Oh, sorry… you know I didn’t mean…”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, looking away. “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s been a year now, right?” He asked.
I nodded, fixing my eyes down the hall. “A year ago, tomorrow.”
We completed the rest of the journey to our lockers in silence. I traded the books that I didn’t need for the ones I would need to take home, placing them in my backpack.
“Crap.”
“What?” Dante asked.
“I think I left my Spanish book back in Pickering’s class. I have to go back.”
Dante laughed.
“I’ll wait for you here. I’m not walking back up those stairs.”
“Fine, crybaby.” I turned around and hustled back through the hall and up the stairs. The second floor was mostly deserted, allowing me to reach the classroom with relative ease.
The classroom was empty, much to my relief. I approached the window near Jessica’s desk. There was no crack in the glass.
Impossible. The crack was there before, I was sure of it. Was it possible that I imagined the whole thing? No… I know what I saw.
Just put it out of your mind, I told myself, rubbing my head. Navigating through the chairs, I approached my desk. Sure enough, my yellow and red Spanish book sat on the tray under my chair. As I reached for it, the hairs on the back of my neck stood. The room had been empty since I walked in. Now I felt like the empty space was closing in on me. The air felt thicker. My heart pounded. I scanned back and forth across rows of empty desks, feeling as if the red eyes from before would show up at just the place I wasn’t looking.
The side of my face grew tingly, as if someone were staring at me. Something moved at the edge of my peripheral vision. I whirled around towards the windows. Nobody was there.
“Get it together,” I scolded my brain, “I’m just freaking myself out.”
I swallowed and walked to windows. Nothing but the regular outside world sat below. An outside world that was completely unaware of my presence on the second floor. It was impossible for someone to be watching me from down there. Besides, the sensation had felt closer. Much closer. Like someone had glued their eyes to the glass to study me in my captive habitat. The mere thought of it sent a chill down my spine.
“I need to calm down,” I said out loud to reassure myself. “It’s just an empty room.”
Though my nervous sweat was harder to convince.
I exited with haste and entered the stairwell, eager to put distance between me and the room.
“Hey!” Came a startled cry, followed by the sound of shuffling that came from the floor above me.
“Stop,” the same voice cried again.
I crept up the stairs to the right, leading to the third floor. My steps muffled by the black rubber that covered the linoleum as I ascended, the sounds of the conflict becoming clearer with each step.
“Let me go,” the voice whined.
“Relax,” said a deeper voice, “we’re only trying to help.”
I reached the landing in between floors and looked up. The view straight ahead was clear. Shuffling and scuffling sounds came from further down the third floor. Ascending the rest of the stairs, I reached the floor and peered from behind the wall.
Four guys cornered some unlucky soul against the lockers, a few doors down.
“You got to stand up for yourself, Shawn,” said one, “or else people will keep screwing with you.”
The others laughed. Their chuckles carried down the hallway, boiling my blood.
They stepped back and allowed a wiry boy, clutching his books, to climb to his feet.
“There you go—don’t back down to anyone,” said the guy furthest from me, who I recognized now to be Elias.
Great.
The tall, muscular, and arrogant Elias, who never failed to seize the moment to tell anyone about the difficult boxing lessons that his father enrolled him in the year prior. This boast alone made him untouchable.
The boy next to him was Alex. I barely knew him, but could recognize him by his cauliflower ear. He reached into his back pocket and removed a bottle that was sticking out with a disgusting dark liquid inside. He spit into it and stuffed it back in his pocket. I looked carefully but couldn’t recognize the other two.
“Good… good,” Elias said as Shawn stood. Even from my distance, I could see Shawn visibly shaking.
“Look, I need to go, or I’ll miss my ride,” he said, voice cracking.
“Understood,” Elias said. “But what if someone stopped you from leaving?”
Alex shoved him into the locker. Shawn crumpled into it, hugging his books so they didn’t spill.
“To clarify, I would never stop you from doing that,” Elias said. “The boys and I are just preparing you for someone else who might.”
They laughed.
I dug my fingernails into my palm and exhaled. What was I getting myself into? Four of them and one of me. Well, technically two of us- but I didn’t know how much I could count on Shawn. He looked like he had never thrown a punch in his entire life. No, jumping in would be foolish.
Maybe I could call a teacher? No… a teacher’s arrival would only make things worse. The more I racked my brain, the more I realized I had no available options—other than suicide.
“Sorry Shawn,” I muttered, “I wish I could do something.”
I leaned against the wall. The sound of a body hitting the locker a few times and Shawn’s cry for help rattled my bones, and I cursed under my breath.
“Let’s get going, we’ll be late,” one guy said.
“Yeah, you’re right,” another said, “later Shawn.”
The sounds of their footsteps grew fainter and fainter.
After a few moments, I peeked around the corner. The others had left, and Shawn desperately tried to wrangle his scattered papers and books.
I entered the hallway.
“Let me help,” I said, bending to pick up scattered assignments. Shawn jumped at my voice but said nothing. It took a few minutes to gather all his papers and books together.
“Yeah, that Elias guy is pretty lame,” I said, “him and all his cronies.”
“Thanks for the help,” he said, avoiding my gaze, “but I had them on the ropes.” A wry smile crossed his lips. He adjusted his glasses, but they were hopelessly askew.
I laughed. “Here, let me see.”
Removing his glasses, I bent them as best I could. “My dad used to have this problem all the time with his glasses. He’d fall asleep with his hand against the frames and mangle them all up. After a few times, I became pretty good at… there.”
With the glasses as straight as I could get them, I handed them back. He placed them on his face.
“How does it look?”
“Like a million bucks,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder, “like a million bucks.”
When I exited the school and crossed the asphalt parking lot, Dante approached.
“You get lost on the way up?” He asked. “I was on my way to see if you had fallen in a toilet.”
