Rebirth

  Tattooed Angels Trilogy

  Book One

  Rebirth

  A novel by

  Valerie Willis

  Copyright © 2002-2016 Valerie Willis

  Published by Battle Goddess Productions

  Cover Art & Design by Valerie Willis

  Typesetting by Valerie Willis

  All rights reserved.

  PAPERBACK EDITION ISBNS

  ISBN: 1467900338

  ISBN-13: 978-1467900331

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DEDICATION

  To my Great Grandmother who taught me the importance of having Faith.

  And to Shannon Whitlock for making sure this story got the attention and love it needed.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Book of Ancients: The Beginning

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Book of Ancients: Judgment

  Chapter Eighteen

  Book of Ancients: Rebirth

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  About the Author

  Other Books

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big thank you to those who backed this project on Kickstarter. It was an amazing feeling to see so many jump in on the cause and it only made me push harder. That includes the following awesome people:

  Secondly, another thank you to all my BETA readers who gave me so much of their time. Without them, this story would have been lacking some much needed love to get it off the ground completely.

  Kay Kauffman for smacking me about and helping me clean up my mess! Love you and thank you!

  More importantly, thank you to my Husband and Kids for giving me the chance to work on my Books.

  Chapter One

  His eyes struggled to adjust to the searing heat and blinding light. The intense white horizon was all he could make out; the desert landscape swallowed him. Silvery sand, bright skies, and waves of heat obscured everything that lay beyond where he stood.

  Hotan’s ears pounded; his heartbeat deafened him. His chest ached as panic filled him.

  It’s the dream again.

  Frantic, he searched all around.

  Where was he? He always comes for me. I never-

  “HOTAN!”

  His nerves felt as though they were unraveling in his joints. Turning, his gaze fell on a disrupted blackened figure approaching him. It vibrated and wiggled as it advanced, as if this single element of his dream had poor reception. He could never make out who this man or demon was, yet he knew him instinctively.

  Not again… That voice and the aura… I know him. I know that I know him, but… why do I also feel as if I have never met him?

  “Hotan! I shall take my revenge.” The animosity in the voice gripped Hotan’s soul.

  “Revenge?” His mind flooded with questions as it attempted to decipher the familiar voice. “Who are you? Why do I feel like I should know you?”

  “You know what blood runs in our hearts! This will be the last time you hide from me. The last time you will hide from what you have done!” A long sword appeared out of the wavering blackness. Unlike the man who held it, this element of the dream was clear as it reflected the blinding sun down upon him like a spotlight shining on its kill. “I wish to thank you for my tortured life for all these centuries! I’ll send you to a lonely darkness equal to the one you gave me!”

  Hotan felt his heels scrape against something hard and fell backwards. No matter how many times he changed his direction, he always fell back into the emptiness of this place. The blade rose high, racing at him with astonishing speed. Its edge ripped across his arms, and once more, he released a blood-curdling scream. The fuzzy black shadow laughed the same maddening laugh he’d heard a million times. Wild eyes and a wide grin became clear on the shadow’s vibrating face which was covered with splatters of Hotan’s blood. Wet crimson astounded him as he felt the coldness of his oncoming death. Darkness hid the blinding landscape and all he could feel was the thud-

  “Hotan!” Pushing her glasses back on her nose, the haughty teacher snorted in his direction. He jerked his head up off his desk, breathing hard after his nightmare. Sweat covered his face.

  “I would appreciate it if you stayed awake during my class.” Scoffing, she turned back to the blackboard to continue the math lesson on sine versus cosine.

  “Feh.” Rubbing the sweat off his forehead, he ignored the warning.

  Of all places to fall asleep…

  “Psst. Are you okay?” Wide-eyed, the light-haired girl in the desk next to him leaned closer. “You’re looking rather pale today. Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine.” Annoyed that she had noticed how distraught he was, he cracked his neck before glaring out the window.

  Great, now everyone thinks there is something else wrong with me.

  Seeing that he was not in the mood to talk, the girl returned to her notes. It was not uncommon for him to be unsociable to his classmates. He spent most of his time in class looking out windows, waiting for the bell to ring. Despite the lack of focus, he was passing his courses without any difficulties.

  Hotan watched a gym class finish its last round of a basketball game. The view from the second-story window was nice and the perfect escape from his math teacher’s monotonous lecture. As the last of the kids disappeared from sight, he shifted his focus to a pair of mourning doves sitting on the tennis court fence. A few more landed next to them, joining the line as the morning sun rose higher in the sky. The sun warmed his face as it pushed through the glass, a comforting sensation compared to the echoes of cold that still rattled him.

  Strange that the birds should be so clear to him, so distinct from the rest of the gray landscape. Though he had been born completely color blind, there were occasionally strange moments where an object would appear in color. Despite having never seen colors before, he knew their names and how to describe them. One doctor had labeled him as a classic case of cerebral achromatopsia, some fancy term that means he does see colors since he describes the world around him in shades of gray.

  The doctor pointed out that the truly color blind have no recognition of what gray is. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t tell you what color anyone around him wore, let alone the school’s colors. Then again, he had other things to focus on than school pride. Screw team spirit.

  Who was that man?

  His thoughts reeled as the sounds of the classroom faded. Closing his eyes, the dark figure reappeared in his mind; it was the same dream over and over again.

  This year has been the worst. It was hitting me once a month. Now I am falling asleep in class and having the dream. What does it mean? It must mean something…

  “Class dismissed!” The teacher cleared her throat as students
rushed the door. “Hotan Samuels, I need to speak with you.”

  Grabbing his book bag, Hotan met her at her desk as the last student departed, leaving them alone. “Yes, Mrs. Bothirsen? Is there a problem?”

  “Hotan…” She paused, waiting for the door to click shut before returning her gaze to him. “I know you are passing the exams with straight A’s, but please, stay awake in my class. Just because you’re smarter than the other students, it doesn’t mean you get special privileges and it doesn’t mean you can nap in class. You’ll never pass if you continue to just sit here staring out the window. You need to start participating.”

  “Sorry- I haven’t been sleeping well.” He turned away, his face blank as he headed for the hall with no reaction on his face. Stopping a few steps short of the door, he glared back at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “Plus, who said I had special privileges? If that was the case, I wouldn’t even bother showing up.” Smirking, he glided out of the door, leaving her speechless.

  The hallways undulated before him, a churning of greys like that of boiling water in a silver pot. He kept his head low; his silver bangs aided his efforts to ignore unwanted eye contact, especially after the debacle in math class. He just wanted to finish this last year of high school and move on with his life.

  Unlike the kids surrounding him, he had no choice but to grow up. Memories of his mom made him bite his cheek as he continued the silent march down the stairs to the first floor.

  I am here because I promised her I would graduate high school.

  He sighed, passing through the mayhem like a phantom in a cemetery. The students around him seemed to fall silent as he lost himself to sour thoughts and memories. Unlike the panicked kids rushing past him, he felt no urgency to get out of the school.

  He paused in front of his locker. Tossing the math book on top of the stack, he huffed to himself. He smirked as he shut the door on the pile of textbooks. He hadn’t opened any of them, yet he was passing with straight A’s. Information came to him as if he had studied them in a past life and the knowledge had never left his soul. Carrying the books to his classes had been a way to show his teachers his respect for the material and to appear less intimidating to other students. At least bringing a book appeared as if he studied.

  “Hey there…” The deep voice rang in Hotan’s ears. Chills ran across the back of his neck as if Death himself had whispered the words. “I heard you were looking for me?”

  “Hisota.” Hotan turned and shoved the skinny, dark eyed boy. “You haven’t been to band practice. Are you going to play at the club tonight? Or are you finally quitting?”

  With a coy smile, Hisota flicked his long, black ponytail off his shoulders. After a moment, he shrugged, increasing Hotan’s ire.

  “I need to know.” Hotan had a hard time considering Hisota a friend at the moment. They had met back in elementary school, and Hisota had followed him ever since. “Cut the crap, Hisota. Are you leaving the band, yes or no?”

  “If I say no, are you going to bully me into going tonight? Or would you prefer I say yes so your cheerleader-wannabe girlfriend can take my place?” Twisting his face into a vinegary look, it was clear Hisota had a jealous streak when it came to Hotan’s relationship. “I hope you know pretty girls like that look like whores on grungy rocker boys like you. She’s not-”

  Hisota yelped as Hotan gripped him by the shirt and slammed him into the lockers. “Leave her out of this! Everyone knows you’re jealous of her- knock it off and grow up already!”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Hisota jerked out of Hotan’s grip and stomped off into the wall of eyes.

  Ignoring the chatter and giggles, Hotan pushed his way out the front doors of the old brick school. Aggravated, he tuned out the world and people around him as he made his way past the bus loop, pacing silently down the sidewalk. He stopped suddenly about a block down from the school; a strangely shaped shadow caught his attention and he looked up to see an old, broken church.

  Chapter Two

  The church reminded him of the St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City, only with half the size and fewer embellishments. All he knew for sure about the place was it was built near the end of the American colonial period and it had been abandoned for longer than anyone could remember. Not even his mother could recall how long it had been sitting on its weedy throne.

  Despite the church’s small stature, it still towered over the quaint neighborhood just as it had since its completion. The modern homes neighboring it left the old monument stuck in a past no one wanted to remember. Regardless of its battered appearance, it was a solid piece of architecture and it was the perfect place to be alone.

  He couldn’t remember what it was that brought him here so long ago, but the peace he felt when he walked through its rotting wooden doors had been refreshing. Slipping past the one working door, he stepped inside the dust-covered wreck. The church had once housed several angelic statues, but time and neglect had crumbled most of them. Two stone guardians near the front had broken limbs, wings, and faces. Remnants of wooden pews scattered the floor. Behind the podium, in front of a shattered stained glass window, lay a crippled wooden cross in a bed of rubble, having failed to uphold the savior it had once supported so proudly.

  This place would have been a sight to see in its prime. Only the finest materials had been utilized: fragments of marble, splinters of dark cedar. Hints of silver were also evident in the little bit of décor that remained intact. What had once been a virtuous white now lay in filth, grayed by dust. That decay added to the musky scent the air held.

  Amid the wreckage, there remained a few places one could sit, and Hotan would spend hours there, lost in thought.

  This is my place.

  The neighbors questioned his coming and going from the church. No “For Sale” signs had ever graced the lot in the time since he’d first noticed it and, oddly, no one he’d ever asked knew who owned the property.

  As he sat on the pew, staring at the broken gray world around him, he felt his muscles loosen. Leaving behind the conflicts of the day, he steadied his mind and his emotions, inhaling the pungent smell of the decaying church and finding harmony within it. After several minutes, he sighed and walked back out the front doors. He pulled a cloth tarp off something large, exposing the motorcycle he had parked off to the side. A blue-flamed Suzuki Hayabusa glimmered in the afternoon sunlight.

  The school had thrown a tantrum when he attempted to register it as his senior year transportation. They revoked his parking permit at the very idea of such a thing, so he resorted to parking it here. Pulling on his helmet, he started the bike, gassing it soft so as not to disturb such a peaceful place. The moment the back tire hit the asphalt, he opened up the throttle and roared towards the waiting city.

  Shellie gripped his waist in a firm hug as they pulled off the busy downtown street. The front tire splashed through the puddles littering the back alleyway. He had picked her up on his way to the club, fearing that Hisota’s confrontation at school was his way of telling Hotan that he was going to be a no show again. The bike leaned heavily against the kickstand as he waited for Shellie to climb off. He pulled off the full-face helmet, huffing as he shook out his hair. Looking over the parking lot, he saw no signs of Hisota’s bike.

  Hotan bit his tongue as he dismounted his own bike, stomping past Shellie and through the back door of the club. Anger crawled across his shoulders as he tensed and threw his helmet at the lockers. The noise was thunderous; he had everyone’s attention.

  “It’s ok; you know I’m perfectly fine with playing bass.” Shellie gave him her best smile. “We all figured he wasn’t coming after what happened at school.”

  “It still pisses me off that he doesn’t take this as seriously as the rest of us.” Hotan looked at her with mournful eyes. “I can’t just replace him easily, either. The drama he’d create gives me headaches just thinking about it. All I can think is he’s going through some stuff, and he wan
ts to do it alone. Just wish one of us knew what the hell has him so worked over.”

  “Hotan, he’ll get over it just give him a few more weeks.” Kyle, Hotan’s best friend, flipped a drumstick in the air. “We’ve got Shellie till he gets his act together. The last thing we need is for him to pull his power card in here. But, I wouldn’t stop you from pounding his face in if it came to blows.”

  “And whose face are we pounding in?” Chaz, the owner of the club 7even, had entered the room. He towered over the teens and grinned as he puffed on his cigar. “Still on for tonight, kids?”

  There was a long pause as Hotan stared at Shellie and Kyle. They both nodded reassuringly. He looked back to Chaz.

  “We’re still on. Guess it’s another night of me singing if you don’t mind.” Sighing, Hotan picked up his electric guitar and flopped down on the bench to tune it. “We’ll be out soon as we’re all tuned. I’ll let you know when to announce us.”

  “Fine with me.” The cigar smoke billowed out of Chaz’s lips as he walked back the way he’d come in.

  It was a typical Wednesday night with smokers filling in the bar top and a few of them scattered between some of the tables. The band didn’t always play on a slow night, but it was a chance to make extra cash when it came to Hotan’s concerns. Unlike his fellow band members, he didn’t have the luxury of living at home with Mom and Dad anymore.

  Hisota was putting his livelihood at risk every time he threw one of his tantrums. But refusing to show up was his power card. Hotan eyed both Shellie and Kyle from his spot on stage. They were ready.

  “Good evening everyone.” Hotan’s voice was smooth and solid as he spoke to the crowd sitting silently just beyond the stage. “We’re going to start with my personal favorite cover, TOOL’s Laterlus.”