Oracle--Fire Island Read online

  C.W. Trisef

  Trisef Book LLC

  How to contact the author

  Website – www.trisefbook.com

  Email – [email protected]

  Oracle – Fire Island

  C.W. Trisef

  Other titles by C.W. Trisef:

  Oracle – Sunken Earth (Book 1 in the Oracle Series)

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Written by – C.W. Trisef

  Cover designed by – Giuseppe Lipari

  Copyright © 2012 Trisef Book LLC

  Book 2 – Edition 1

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-62095-226-9

  Chapter 0

  June 19

  It was nearly nightfall when a tall figure strode across the back lawn of the mansion house. There was visible stress in his step—worry in his walk—as he moved swiftly despite the bulky load in his arms. He was carrying a trunk, old-looking and odd-shaped, as if it had once been a chest containing buried treasure. The dirt lodged in its intricate outer designs besmeared the fellow’s collared shirt, which he didn’t seem to mind since his entire outfit appeared soiled from consecutive days’ use.

  The man’s long shadow, as well as his unkempt hair and unshaven face, was almost indiscernible as twilight fell on the large property. The recent moisture from a brief but drenching rainfall was now rising as steam from the warm earth like a hotplate, enshrouding the landscape in thick mist. His heavy footsteps squished in the soggy grass, saturating his dress shoes, while strands of Spanish moss tickled his unflinching face as he passed under the skeletal branches of mighty oaks.

  The gentleman’s destination was a rickety old shed, sitting in the middle of the deep and murky marshland that dominated the backyard acreage. Almost entirely hidden by overgrown shrubbery, the shed seemed solely accessible by boat, and even then only if it could withstand the carnivorous wildlife. As he neared the bank of the swamp, the man purposely stepped on the tail of a fake skunk, which concealed a button that triggered an elevated walkway to rise from the boggy waters like bumper guards at a bowling alley. His march unabated, the man’s sloshing turned to clogging as he left the lawn and boarded the bridge, with hungry crocodiles hoping for a misstep.

  At last, the man arrived at the dilapidated establishment—an oft-neglected shack full of never-used tools, rusted and encrusted by the humid, salty air ever-blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean next-door. He stepped on a false bullfrog near the half-hinged door, prompting the bridge to collapse, before slipping inside. He set the chest down on the planked floor, then straightened his aching back. His disheveled hair brushed the ceiling so perfectly that it was obvious the place had been made for him. As if he had done it countless times, his hand found a lever on the wall, which he promptly pulled.

  The shed’s floor began to lower, quickly descending into the earth. The elevator plummeted several stories, its only cargo being the man and his trunk. It stopped upon reaching a set of double doors, which shot open. The man picked up the chest and walked across the threshold into a room that was, in every way, the opposite of the shack from whence he came. Cables and cords, screens and phones, antennae and computers—all the latest and greatest tools, amassed as part of an extensive surveillance and communications system.

  Setting the trunk nearby, the man sat down in the only chair and depressed a large, blinking button directly in front of him. Immediately, the startling image of an aged man appeared on the edgeless glass screen, which filled the wall on the other side of the room like in a movie theater.

  “Stone!” the ancient man growled. “You’re late!”

  “A thousand apologies, Lord Lye,” Stone sorrowed, “but be it known that I have not so much as slept a wink since you released us from Coy’s yacht just yesterday.”

  “Did you dispose of Quirk?” Lye asked abruptly, showing no compassion for Stone’s grueling labors.

  “Yes, my lord,” answered Stone without remorse. “He was thrown overboard long before we returned to the mainland.”

  “And what is Bubba’s present location?” Lye pressed.

  “He’s on his way back to Fire Island, per your instructions, my lord,” Stone informed. “He left just hours ago.”

  “Excellent,” Lye hissed. “Now, what of the trunk? Did you relocate it like I asked?”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Stone submissively. “I retrieved it from my office on my way here, and I have it with me now in the Keep. As soon as we conclude, I will give it to Charlotte to archive.”

  “Has she found the cleats?” Lye questioned with sudden vehemence. “Has Charlotte found a second pair?”

  “Unfortunately, she has not,” Stone regretfully informed. “I have instructed her to search the Keep until a second pair is found.”

  “Very well,” Lye grumbled with displeasure. “At least we have the key in our possession. Did you find a secure holding place for the key?”

  Stone made no reply. His mind was drawing a blank. His heart began to pound.

  “The key, Stone,” Lye interrogated urgently. “Where is the key?”

  “I—I don’t have a…have a…,” Stone stuttered. “A key, sir?”

  “YOU LOST IT?!”

  “I don’t remember you giving me—”

  “HOW COULD YOU LOSE IT?”

  “I’m sorry,” Stone pled for his life, “but I—”

  “FIND IT!” Lye roared with fury. “I MUST HAVE THAT KEY!”

  “It shall be done, my lord,” Stone vowed, “but, may I ask, to what key are you referring?”

  “The key I gave you on the yacht, you fool,” Lye howled, “right before I melted the lock and released you.”

  Suddenly remembering, Stone said with a shaky voice, “Yes, my lord, I remember now. It seems, amid all the excitement of your unexpected arrival and the flurry of instructions you gave me”—Stone braced for harsh punishment—“it seems I mistook the key as belonging to the lock of our cell, and, consequently, I left it on the yacht.”

  Lye said nothing for a moment. Then, in quiet tones, he resumed, “I am greatly disappointed in you, Stone. I thought I could trust you with this most important responsibility, but you have failed.”

  “I will do everything in my power to find the key, my lord,” Stone pledged.

  “No, no,” Lye dismissed. “You’ve proven it’s too essential to delegate. I will recover the key on my own, even if I have to infiltrate Coy Manor in the process.” Then, as if pleased with his own words, “Yes: infiltrate Coy Manor; I think I’ll do that. I’ve been meaning to make such a visit.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Now that Quirk is out of the way,” Lye continued with renewed vigor, “I will be sending you another acquaintance of mine before the start of the new school year. She is a very able woman; you might learn a thing or two from her.” Stone looked down in shame. “I suspect you will put her to good use at that deplorable school of yours.”

  “It shall be done, my lord,” Stone promised.

  “I need you and her to take good care of Ret and his friends,” Lye directed. “Keep them alive, keep them safe—all of them.”

  “Including the mother?” Stone cringed.

  “For now,” Lye advised. “I need them; I need Ret.”

  “But, sir,” Stone disagreed, “I thought you—”

  “Do you have scars on your hands, Stone?!” Lye bellowed. “Can you open the Oracle? Can you collect the elements? Hmm? Can you?!” Stone cowered in silence, worried that his master might somehow reach through cyberspace and strangle him. “I need him, Stone, and I nee
d him alive.”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Stone quivered. “I was under the impression you wanted to kill Ret, sir.”

  Lye lowered his guttural voice and said, with a menacing smile, “I don’t want to kill him—yet.”

  Chapter 1

  Hot Topics

  Never had such extreme heat been known to plague Tybee Island. Summer had only just begun, and already the coastal community was breaking records thanks to the triple-digit temperatures, with the humidity not far behind. The whole town languished under the searing conditions and the unpleasant realization that the hot season was only heating up.

  This was the state of things when the Coopers and the Coys returned to their homes after their adventures in Sunken Earth. As if someone had flipped the preheat switch upon their departure, the island was baking by the time they came back. Day after day, the relentless sun appeared in the east and burned its path across a cloudless sky. Flowers withered, leaves wilted, and people wanted nothing more than a front seat by the air-conditioner.

  Unless, of course, it was broken, as the Coopers unfortunately discovered soon after walking through the front door of their modest home.

  “Good grief,” Ana had moaned upon entering the house’s stifling heat, “will somebody crank up the AC?” One of her least favorite things to do was sweat—or “glisten,” as she had corrected Ret.

  But, on account of the family’s unfortunate finances, the all-important air-conditioning remained unfixed. Ever since Jaret’s presumed death (though Pauline still referred to it as his “disappearance”), the Coopers’ income had been reduced to a mere pittance called a pension from the U.S. Coast Guard. Thus, there was no room in the family pocketbook for expenditures that were not saved for well in advance.

  And so, as the windows went up, Ret went down to the beach, thoroughly convinced that the coolest place to be was at the water’s edge. Now that he had mastered his control over everything earthen, Ret was finding all sorts of practical applications for his newfound powers. For example, rather than burn his bare feet on the beach’s sand, which the sun’s hot rays had transformed into a cast-iron griddle, Ret pushed away the top inch of sand with his mind before each of his footsteps, exposing a cooler layer beneath that was much more comfortable to the touch. Further applying this principle, Ret carved a sort of dugout into the sandbar near his favorite nook on the beach. The sandy roof, which he held up at will, shaded him underneath as he sat a few feet below the level of the ground in his cool bunker. He even dug a few trenches that led from the ocean to his hollow so that when the waves rushed upon the shore, several channels of cool seawater not only flooded the floor but also dripped through a series of holes in the roof. It was his favorite place to beat the heat.

  But although Ret had found a way to lighten the burden of the weather, the sad tale of Sunken Earth still weighed heavily on his heart. Hardly typical, the past year had been quite an eventful one, filled with emotion. Along with his sister, Ana, and her best friend, Paige Coy, Ret passed his first year of high school with flying colors, rising to the top of his class in every regard. Despite his lack of close friends, he was very well-known for an underclassman, mostly on account of his unusual physical features: his pale-white skin; bright blue eyes; radiant yellow hair; and, of course, the scars on the palms of his hands, which he tried to keep concealed at all times. Ret was well-liked by all, but just as many seemed to keep their distance from him, except for two bothersome characters: Principal Lester W. Stone and his “geography” teacher, Mr. Ronald Quirk. From the onset, they had made it clear (perhaps accidentally, to Stone’s dismay) that they knew, needed, and would be watching Ret very closely, for, as it turned out, they were working for the evil Lord Lye, an age-old nemesis with sorcerer-like powers and unheard of longevity.

  Yet Ret himself was but half the object of his enemies’ dastardly designs. The boy meant nothing to them without the ball—the Oracle, an ancient sphere capable of unlimited power when filled with Mother Nature’s six pure elements. Fortunately, the once lost-at-sea Oracle was in the possession of none other than Mr. Benjamin Coy, and together the Coys and Coopers uncovered the meaning of the first of Ret’s illuminated scars: the hook and triangle.

  Into the Atlantic Ocean’s Devil’s Triangle it led them, to one of our planet’s unexplained mysteries: a road of submerged stones, lying on the ocean floor near the island of Bimini in the Bahamas. With the help of Ret as a descendent from the rightful family line, the road turned out to be a secret passageway to the lost city of Sunken Earth, a vast civilization completely enclosed under the Atlantic.

  But Lye had beaten them to it. With his powers of mind and cane, he ruined Sunken Earth’s system of peace and equality and made himself king, seizing control of the hidden society’s life-sustaining earth. With the help of his newfound friend and ally, Lionel Zarbock, Ret summitted the great mountain, where he met the first of the Guardians of the Elements. One of the eight ancient Fathers, the Guardian of the earth element taught Ret of his unique position as one with the scars, capable of restoring the six elements to the Oracle and curing the world. And, in spite of Lye’s best efforts to stop them, Ret procured the first element and escaped Sunken Earth with his life.

  But, oh, at what terrible cost! The Guardian; the Coys’ butler, Ivan; the people’s princess, Alana; and the thousands upon millions of citizens of Sunken Earth—all dead. Every single one a casualty of Ret’s doing. Blood spilt at his hand! Life drowned at his discovery! Surely there had to have been another way to get the earth element, Ret mourned, one with less death and destruction. Ret tried to convince himself that this whole Oracle business was his purpose in life—his destiny to fulfill—but the stunning gravity of it all cast a dark cloud of doubt in his mind. Was there no other way? Then perhaps it would be better for everyone if he just forgot all about the Oracle—buried it deep in the earth where no one would ever find it (he could do that, you know)—leave it alone, pretend it never happened, and try to live a normal life.

  No, that wouldn’t help. Ret had started something; he had set something in motion. He could feel it. That, and the news was abuzz, overflowing with stories that would never allow him to push the subject completely out of his mind. Take, for instance, the story on the front page of today’s Tybee Times:

  WORLD PUZZLED BY ATLANTIC’S MASS GENOCIDE

  LONDON—Ever since scores of dead bodies started washing up on Caribbean shores three days ago (and more appear every hour), everyone from Australia to Algeria has been wondering one thing: what in the world happened?

  The facts are few but certain. As of yesterday at 11:59 PM (GMT), a total of 113,892 corpses have been collected, mostly from the shores of the Islands of the Bahamas but also along the eastern coasts of Cuba, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic. Ranging from the aged to the infantile, these lifeless castaways have also drifted as far south as Jamaica and as far north as Virginia, USA.

  Suddenly, Ret looked up from reading the newspaper to see who had called out his name from across the beach.

  “Ret Cooper!” yelled Ana, sounding a bit distressed as she hurriedly hopped toward him. “If you don’t teach me that vanishing sand trick, you’ll be the one who pops the blisters on my scorched feet!” Ret obliged, waving his hand to unveil a welcome path in the hot sand.

  “That’s better,” Ana grinned.

  “Listen to this,” Ret said to her as she joined him in the hollow. He resumed reading the article.

  According to the World Health Organization (WHO), none of the bodies has been identified. “We’re in a profound stupor,” said WHO representative Michelle Dubois. “Our DNA tests have not found a single match among world archives.” When asked if WHO would appeal to the public for identification purposes, Dubois said, “We have no intention of doing so because the bodies are too waterlogged and decomposed, rendering any attempt at visual recognition futile. Besides, due to the overwhelming volume of specimens, they are being disposed of almost immediately.”


  Autopsies performed by WHO yield no evidence linking the genocide to any sort of pandemic virus or sickness. This has led scientists to believe that the victims drowned as a result of last week’s catastrophic seismic activity. According to the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS), a magnitude 18.3 earthquake occurred, with its epicenter somewhere between Miami, Florida, USA; Bermuda, UK; and San Juan, Puerto Rico, USA. Other experts from around the globe have their own hypotheses, however. Geologists at the European-Mediterranean Seismological Centre (EMSC) confirm the 18.3 magnitude but disagree with the USGS in categorizing it as an earthquake.

  “We feel it would be a misnomer to classify last week’s seismic activity as an earthquake due to the indefinite location of its epicenter as well as its arbitrary reading on the Richter Scale,” the EMSC said in a statement. “We do not see a sufficient number of common earthquake characteristics to classify it as such.”

  “Whatever it was, it was colossal,” said Roger Reedley, a spokesman from the World Data Center for Seismology in Denver, Colorado, USA. “The largest earthquake ever recorded was the 9.5-magnitude quake in Valdivia, Chile, in 1960. Last week’s activity registered an unfathomable 18.3. That’s not just two-times the size of the Valdivia quake; that’s not how the Richter Scale works. To give you an idea, a 9.0 quake releases 1,000 times more energy than a 7.0 quake. Yeah, and we’re talking 18.3 here. I don’t have a calculator with a big enough screen to throw exact figures at you, but this mega-quake released as much energy as an explosion of hundreds of teratons of TNT. That’s hundreds of trillions of tons of TNT. Mind boggling, isn’t it?”

  Supporting the claim made by the EMSC, there were remarkably no tsunamis in connection with this seismic phenomenon, although just about every coastal nation issued tsunami warnings. Typically, beach waters will recede just prior to the arrival of tsunami waves. While many countries reported receding tides, no giant waves ever appeared, and water levels still haven’t returned to their previous heights. The U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) reports that the sea level along all American shores has dropped more than one foot (0.3 meters).