Shades And Shadows Collection

Chapter 3-1

“The FBI is now indicating that the explosion this weekend outside a crowded Catholic church in New York City was not, in fact, the product of foreign terrorism as was originally speculated. Two suspects are in custody after exhaustive investigation. The bomb was set in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood by a white supremacist group. Twenty-two people died in that blast and another thirty were wounded. We will have more information following coverage of the press conference due to begin momentarily.”

The FBI is now indicating that the explosion this weekend outside a crowded Catholic church in New York City was not, in fact, the product of foreign terrorism as was originally speculated. Two suspects are in custody after exhaustive investigation. The bomb was set in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood by a white supremacist group. Twenty-two people died in that blast and another thirty were wounded. We will have more information following coverage of the press conference due to begin momentarily.Mason turned away from the television and turned his attention back to the books on the coffee table in front of him. He had nearly completed copying his Nana"s Book of Line into one of his own. It wasn"t as complete as he had once believed, with gaps indicating that none of his most recent ancestors had gone back to the original in generations.

To complete his book, he would need to take a journey across the country to the grave of the first Jerah to land on American soil.

Secreted in a compartment in a gravestone in what was now Washington DC was a much larger Book of Line, one that tracked all of the family lines. As the last of his branch of the Jerah line, it was his duty to go back and update the book, and take from it any updates left by other Shades paying homage to their origin.

It was a rite of passage passed down from the days when the journey involved was far more arduous than his would be. He merely had to navigate the hardships of his natural sensitivity to sunlight and figuring out the confusing maze of transportation through cities he knew nothing about. He glanced toward the television and amended the thought. He"d also need to steer clear of the g*n-toting, Shade and minority hating, right wing crazies who were popping up everywhere. The number of hate crimes had been rising in the last weeks, spurred on by Darchel"s arrest and the xenophobic rhetoric that was being spewed by several of the presidential candidates now that the race to party nominations was getting contentious.

“No, at this time we do not suspect any Shade involvement.” The words made Mason look up. There was a man in a suit behind a podium with at least twenty microphones in his face. Behind him stood an array of similar men in suits and in front of him a sea of reporters, each clamoring to ask the next question. “The men responsible are a part of a white militia group known as the 8th Battalion. As far as we know, this attack was purely motivated by hate. The suspects have confessed and indicated that there will be more attacks to come.”

No, at this time we do not suspect any Shade involvement.The men responsible are a part of a white militia group known as the 8th Battalion. As far as we know, this attack was purely motivated by hate. The suspects have confessed and indicated that there will be more attacks to come.A suspected Shade had been beaten to death in Montana the week before. A homosexual black man and his Hispanic partner had been found dead in their car, which was covered with spray painted swastikas and racial slurs. Three Islamic centers had been burned following political rallies in their cities.

He"d always believed his Nana was paranoid, but since her death, he was beginning to wonder if she wasn"t right after all. The world outside his quiet mountain home was a terrifying place.

Mason closed his Nana"s book and got to his feet to return it to the hiding place where he"d found it. When he returned from his trip he would update it and then bury it where it belonged.

He returned to the living room as a clip was playing of Norman Douglas" rally in New York the week before. “I"m not saying that we should kill… you know, but we shouldn"t be afraid to take back our country. They take our jobs, they take our lives, they force their beliefs on us. Islamic terrorists, black and Mexican gangs, Shades, the gays… they are all here and they are killing us. We need to stand strong. We need to deport all the illegals. We need to keep the bad element out!”

I"m not saying that we should kill… you know, but we shouldn"t be afraid to take back our country. They take our jobs, they take our lives, they force their beliefs on us. Islamic terrorists, black and Mexican gangs, Shades, the gays… they are all here and they are killing us. We need to stand strong. We need to deport all the illegals. We need to keep the bad element out!Mason turned the television off. He didn"t want to hear any more. Instead he went to his room, pulling his old hiking backpack out of the closet. It had been his grandfather"s. They had used it when they went hunting or camping up in the mountains overnight.

He packed a few changes of clothing, an extra pair of gloves and went into the bathroom to pack up the necessities. He wanted to travel light. He"d keep to the woods until he got down the mountain, and from there he could catch a bus traveling east. He wasn"t sure how long it would take him.

He stopped at the hall closet for the pup tent and sleeping roll, checking them before securing them with the straps on his pack. In the kitchen, he pulled out the old cast iron skillet and packed up the last of the canned goods and cleaned out the fridge to make a couple of sandwiches. He put his new book into a smaller canvas bag and stashed it in his pack before he got his hunting knife and kit. The knife fit into his boot, the kit fit into the pack.

Mason slipped on his jacket and settled his hat on his head. It was early evening as he stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door shut and locking it behind him. He adjusted the pack on his shoulders and took up the hand carved hiking stick that he and his grandfather had made.

He paused at the tree line, looking back at the little house that had been his home for years. He had never dreamed he would leave it. Not like this.

Mason set out into the gathering dark of the night, moving through the familiar woods at a steady pace. He had hiked through these trees all his life. In fact, the town at the bottom of the mountain was the furthest he"d ever been from home. He kept to back trails that steered clear of people and houses. He stopped close to midnight, in a dense thicket where he couldn"t see the sky, to eat a sandwich. Out this far, the world was quiet. He could almost pretend he was alone.

Near dawn, he stopped and pitched his tent, crawling inside to sleep. It was made of thick canvas so it would protect him from any sun that could find its way through the heavy tree cover above him. The familiar confines of the tent were comforting. He unrolled his sleep roll and lay down on it. In the recent days, as he"d worked on copying his book, he"d taken to practicing things he"d read about. It was something he should have been doing all along, if he"d been allowed to follow the traditions, starting his own book as he reached puberty.

He closed his eyes, taking his grandmother"s talisman from around his neck and holding it in his right hand as he started with a simple routine: breathing in slowly and out just as slowly, bringing his focus out of the outside world and down into his own body, feeling through his limbs and organs for any signs of disease or damage and directing energy to heal anything he found.

It was calming, if nothing else. As he lay there, he directed energy to his feet and legs to prevent any soreness that might develop in his muscles. He swept his inner eye over his vital organs, through his stomach and intestines. He didn"t actually expect to find anything, but the text had said that it was a good practice daily so that anything that did begin to develop could be caught early and dealt with before it became a problem.

Besides, he figured it was a good thing for a Shade to know his own body. He"d never had any schooling in human anatomy, so he would have to learn it through the study of his own. Once he"d completed his review and centered his thoughts again, he reached inside him for the network of thoughts and memories that had grown from the joining of his mother"s last breath and his grandmother"s.

The memories were all scrambled, far from any coherent story line, something he could look through for the knowledge he needed. He picked at a thread of memory and let it play through him, filling his mind with another time and place, a young Shade with a young wife and a baby on the way, building a place for them in a small village.

Fear shot through him as men in uniforms and priests came to find him, and the memories jumped around as he was named and questioned before escaping with his wife into the mountains. There wasn"t much to learn from those memories, but they left him cold and shaking.

“Do not be afraid,” a voice said inside him.

Do not be afraid,Mason let go of the memory and smiled into the face of his grandfather. It was his own memory that bubbled up then, one of their trips up the mountain. They were beside the pond where they would swim. Mason stripped down to just his underwear, nervous because the water was deep. His grandfather was in the water already, beckoning Mason to join him.

“Do not be afraid, Mason. Shades are made for the water.” With a sudden clarity, Mason remembered the day and as he moved through the memory, knowledge filled him. His grandfather had taught him how to use the water to speed healing. Mason had twisted an ankle on the hike. As he reached his grandfather in the water, Mason could feel his energy moving around them.

Do not be afraid, Mason. Shades are made for the water.His grandfather had helped him float, telling him to pay close attention as he used his hands to bring the energy to the inflamed tissue around his ankle. After a few minutes, it was Mason"s turn to try. He wasn"t as graceful as his grandfather, his small hands less adept at bringing the energized water where he wanted it, but he realized that he could direct his own energy into the water, not just try to use his grandfather"s.

Mason let the memory go and drifted toward sleep. His dreams were jumbled memories, snippets of lifetimes not his own, and lessons learned from his parents and grandfather in his early childhood, all jumbled together with news images and his grandmother"s fear filled words.

He woke in the late afternoon and lay listening to the stillness of the woods. By nightfall he would be well into the civilized world and that peace would be a memory. He wanted to soak it in as much as he could.