Past Life Strife (Rise of the Discordant Book 1) Read online

  Past Life Strife

  Rise of the Discordant Book #1

  A novel by

  Christina McMullen

  Past Life Strife

  Copyright © 2014, Christina McMullen

  All rights reserved.

  Unauthorized distribution or reproduction is strictly prohibited.

  The following is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and brands are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living, dead, or the living dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art, layout, & design by

  Christina McMullen

  Other books by Christina McMullen

  Kind of Like Life

  Going Green

  The Eyes of The Sun Series:

  The Eyes of The Sun

  Bluebeard’s Children

  Mother of Darkness

  Dissonant

  Chapter 1 Order in Chaos

  Chapter 2 Welcome to Blackbird

  Chapter 3 Love Sucks

  Chapter 4 Demons, Drinks, and Dames

  Chapter 5 Strange Bedfellows

  Chapter 6 Mystic Mayhem

  Chapter 7 Biscuits and Brawls

  Chapter 8 Splintered Souls

  Chapter 9 The Storm Before the Calm

  Chapter 10 Loyalties

  Chapter 11 A Disturbance

  Chapter 12 Into Oblivion

  Chapter 13 The Martyr Soul

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Order in Chaos

  “I dare say Seth,” the Creator sniffed indignantly, gesturing with limp, noodle appendages at the hovering mass of pasta it had become, “of all the images humanity has cast upon me, this is, by far, my least favorite.”

  “It’s rather popular at the moment. And you have to admit, it’s the closest man has come to the ultimate truth, is it not?”

  “Yes, yes,” the Creator sighed, peppering Seth with a light mist of marinara sauce in the process. “Of course I found the irony of the concept amusing. But for the love of my imperfect creations, Seth, this generation will deify anything!”

  “Need I remind you that an entire dynasty once believed God to be a squirrel with a rather large…er, sorry,” Seth muttered and lowered his head in apology. “I’ve been picking up a lot of cynicism lately and I’m afraid it’s rubbing off on me.”

  When he lifted his head once again, the absurd creature was gone. In its place stood a tall, beautiful woman garbed in a gauzy green robe that barely contained her ample bosom. Vines of ivy snaked from her long coppery hair and curled around her bare feet. Around her, a lush forest sprang to life and sun streamed through the canopy of trees overhead.

  “The Earth Mother?” the Creator remarked with a hint of surprise and surveyed its new form. Its gaze lingered for a moment on its chest. “Or have we now deified a certain actress?”

  “Hey, I may be outside the Cycle, but I’m still human.”

  “Are you objectifying me?” the Creator asked with a hint of amusement, but quickly added, “Please, do not answer that. I haven’t much time, so let us continue. Something is bothering you, Seth.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “When the world failed to end yet again, I expected the number of lost to subside. But no, they just keep pushing out new doomsday dates to rally around. It seems the inevitable continuation of all existence only serves to upset the masses,” Seth explained. “I’m afraid that there are more lost now than ever before. Instead of delighting in the fact that life goes on, many people are depressed by the fact that their mundane problems continue to exist. It’s just been overwhelming.”

  “Ah but the world did end, many times, did it not? At least, for those whose convictions were strong enough, no?”

  “Yes,” Seth admitted, “and for the handful of pure souls, who experienced a rapture that was everything they’d prayed for and more, I’m sure Heaven will be lovely. But what of the unfortunates who allowed fear to drive their convictions? Do they deserve the fiery Hell of their own creation?”

  The Creator placed a delicate ivory hand on Seth’s shoulder. “You know that Order requires balance, Seth. Order powers the Cycle. You know that they will have infinite opportunities for atonement.”

  Seth nodded. As an Observer, he was gifted with the knowledge of the Cycle. It was a privilege bestowed only upon the keepers of Order, but this did not make his job any easier.

  “You are free to rejoin the Cycle at any time, Seth.”

  The Creator’s voice was neutral, neither accusing nor persuasive, yet Seth bristled at the idea. He had been an Observer for less than two hundred years. The sickness, he had been told, usually set in after several centuries.

  “Seth,” the Creator said softly, “there is no shame or dishonor in returning. An Observer’s burden is greater than that of the Warrior and Guardian combined. You know I am unable to make that decision for you, but you also know the danger you face.”

  “Yes, Creator.” Seth was painfully aware of the fact that out of all agents of Order, Observers were most likely to fall victim to Chaos. He was also aware of the fact that he himself might have been tempted into the Discordant realm, were it not for the strength of his Guardian.

  “Your report then, Seth.”

  Seth knelt and allowed the Creator to place its hands on his bowed head. When it released him, he stood once again and noted the grim set of the lovely face it wore.

  “I see,” the Creator said with a slight frown. “Your Guardian is strong, but we may need to post a Warrior closer to your sector. We have weathered moments like this in the Cycle before, but I sense a strong influence of Discordant in what you have shown me. Be vigilant, Seth.”

  With a nod, the Creator vanished, leaving Seth alone in the forest of his own creation. He lingered for a moment to take in the unspoiled beauty of nature, something that even his semi-rural corner of the world seemed to offer less and less of. With his mood lightened somewhat, Seth slipped back into the time stream.

  *

  It was true that the Discordant grew stronger when humanity became increasingly polarized. I had personally witnessed the dark days of the early twentieth century, beginning with the Great Depression and culminating into the atrocities of World War Two. Although not the worst on record, the Discordant had gained such a strong foothold, that we of Order had our hands full for a many years. But when the war ended, I had the privilege of observing firsthand humanity’s collective perseverance in the face of adversity. The Discordant slunk back to their dark corners and the world did not descend into Chaos.

  It was then, in the postwar suburban revolution, that I was transferred from New York to the small, Midwestern town of Blackbird. For those of us who had been stationed in major metropolitan areas, the transfers were meant as a reward. We were scattered across the American landscape and given our own burgeoning industrial city to watch over during what was supposed to be the dawn of a new and golden era in the history of the world.

  And for a time it was. Blackbird had initially sprung up around the development of a large paper mill, drawing laborers and their families to the area in droves at the turn of the century. By the mid-fifties, it had a population of over seventy thousand and featured a thriving downtown shopping district, suburban neighborhoods with swimming pools and parks, and a brand new university. Blackbird U. was meant to churn out white-collar executives, who would take up residence in the new glass and steel high-rise office buildings that were modernizing the landscape. Blackbird seemed to be well on its way to becom
ing a true city of the future.

  But by the end of the twentieth century, with the paper mill long since closed, Blackbird fell into decline. Globalization had outsourced most manufacturing jobs. Small business was losing out to corporations, who strategically headquartered their operations in the states that would give them the most tax breaks. And so Blackbird, with no such tax benefits, no tourism, and no more industry, went the way of so many midsized American cities, and became a living ghost town.

  It stands to reason that the Discordant have taken full advantage of the decline, but the numbers in which they flock to Blackbird are high even for the poor economic conditions and low morale. Each passing day brings a new creature of Chaos into our midst. The only thing keeping them from taking over Blackbird completely has been the strength of our assigned Guardian, Abbey.

  As an Observer, mine is a passive roll. I am gifted with the ability to feel and measure the emotional states of those under my watch. I can sense when a soul has become despondent, but I can do nothing to influence them. That is where Abbey comes into the picture. When I detect a lost soul, it is Abbey who brings them back by encouraging them on a subconscious level and igniting in them a passion or need.

  Unfortunately, in her role as Guardian, Abbey is very much a part of Blackbird’s dwindling population problem. She’s particularly fond of the young, but inspiring passion in Blackbird’s teen and twenty-something population is a road that leads straight out of Blackbird. Be it the pursuit of a higher education or a stay in the state penitentiary, those who leave Blackbird seldom return. Those who do however, are almost always the first to fall to the Discordant.

  Over the years, my role as an Observer has led me down many career paths. When I first arrived in Blackbird, the paper mill was the obvious choice. Though slight in build, I was made for physical labor. The difficult and often dangerous conditions that came with working the pulp line allowed me a physical means to distract myself from the overwhelming emotional turmoil of the working class. When the mill closed, I moved into electronics assembly. When that job was outsourced, I moved into construction. It wasn’t until the end of the millennium that I came to accept that the best way to serve Blackbird was to get an education. I took classes at the university and now I work in the unemployment office, where I have better access to the lost than ever before, but no physical outlet for the turmoil that overwhelms me daily.

  Abbey, however, has had it easy. The Order has always maintained that bartending is the ideal profession for a Guardian. Though the reason still remains a mystery to me, people are more likely to talk out their issues with the person who pours their drink rather than trust the professional with years of schooling under their belt. When we were transferred to Blackbird, the first thing Abbey did was drag me around from bar to bar, searching for the one most mired in hopelessness and despair. The clear winner was the Five Penny Pub, which she promptly purchased from its original owners.

  The Five Penny is your typical dive bar; with a healthy mix of townies, hipsters, undergraduate intellectuals, and the occasional homeless that slips under the radar. It’s also a Discordant’s wet dream in hot pants. Have you ever heard those old songs about people drinking away their sorrows at the local watering hole? Those are musical documentaries of places like the Five Penny, which is why Abbey has banned all of them from the jukebox. Reminding patrons of the problems they are drinking to forget is bad for business.

  That is not to say that all the souls who frequent the Five Penny are lost. Some, especially the undergraduate intellectuals and a smattering of the hipsters, find the atmosphere inspiring, almost magical. Those would be your aspiring writers, garage band musicians, painters, and people who still take pictures on film fed cameras. Creative types who are wont to believe that they alone understand the pains of this cruel world, yet in their romanticism, are the ones most painfully oblivious. If any one of them could feel what I do every time I come within fifty feet of the place, they’d never order another Tom Collins, Dirty Martini, or Pabst Blue Ribbon from Abbey again.

  *

  It was nine o’clock on a Tuesday night. Work had run late, which was typical as we scrambled to process benefit applications before the week’s cut off. Anyone whose application was not processed would not receive a check on Friday and I, for one, did not want to be on the receiving end of the uproar a missed check would cause. I had also taken a few of my coworkers up on their offer of dinner at a local pizza joint. Mainly, I did this to keep an eye on Stephanie, the waitress who was a young mother and having difficulties keeping up with the rent and bills. I had sensed a warring in her soul and I needed more information before turning her over to Abbey for guidance. Luckily, she was simply stressed and not lost. I slipped a couple of larger notes in with my bill and handed it to her directly before slipping out into the night. I was barely ten feet from the door when the aura of her gratitude hit me, causing me to momentarily feel drunk with bliss.

  I didn’t do this often. I couldn’t. Even though the Order allowed us some leeway when it came to handling the mundane details of our lives, we weren’t given an unlimited supply of cash to do with whatever we wanted. Despite the technicality of being a supernatural being, I still had to work for a living. With said living secured for another day, and one slightly selfish good deed under my belt, I headed back toward downtown and the Five Penny, where my real workday would continue until I dropped, completely exhausted, into bed.

  As I rounded the corner and onto the old-fashioned cobblestone streets of downtown, I noticed, with more than a little surprise and even more worry, the familiar figure of my Guardian coming towards me. When she crossed under the spill of lamplight, I could see that something was wrong. Her untamable red curls, normally pulled up into a messy-yet- chic chignon, spilled wildly from under her cap and the only adornment to her face was a worrisome pair of dark circles under her eyes. Abbey never went out in public without the bare minimum of makeup, and to Abbey, the bare minimum was just a shade below circus clown.

  “Abbey?” I called out and hurried to meet her. “Abbey, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you at the pub?”

  “I quit,” she said simply. “I’m done, I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Quit the Five Penny?” I asked. I know bartending wasn’t the most glamorous profession, but as I said, there was something about bartenders that has compelled even the most private of people to spill their troubles since the first public house opened eons ago. “But you own it. Where will you go now?”

  She leveled me with a look of pure exasperation, but I was used to that. For a Guardian, Abbey could be a bit hot headed. Yet still, something about the heavy tiredness in her eyes did not bode well and I wasn’t sure I was ready for what she was about to say.

  “Into the Cycle,” she said, answering my question with the very last words I ever wanted to hear. “I didn’t quit the Five Penny, Seth. I quit being a Guardian.”

  I was too stunned to respond. I’d never lost a Guardian before, but I’d heard stories from others who had. There were learning curves and adjustments just like any other job, but imagine having over a century of routine erased rather than a few decades at most.

  “What about Donna?” I asked, once I found my voice. Donna was the last living relative in Abbey’s lineage. It was a cheap shot, but I was desperate. Now was not a good time to start anew. Not with the Discordant on the rise once again. “Myrna’s quite old. Donna is going to need guidance.”

  “Donna doesn’t need me, Seth. She’s proven she’s stronger than every last witch in the Rose line,” she deflected easily.

  “But, why?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the panicked tremble from my voice. “Is it really so bad?”

  “I’ve been a Guardian for over five hundred years,” she reminded me. “For the first four it wasn’t so bad. The world changed, sure. But my god, Seth! The last century has seen such an enormous change that I can barely keep up. The last thirty have been even worse! Home computers, the intern
et, cable news, cell phones, and i-everything! The Discordant barely need physical form what with social media giving voice to every zealot with a keyboard! I just… I can’t take it anymore.”

  “But that’s why we need you,” I reasoned. “Abbey, the Discordant grow stronger when humanity is divided.”

  “Oh, can the rhetoric, Seth. I’m burnt out,” she said with a defeated sigh. “I’m so damned burnt out that I started prepping for the apocalypse! The fucking apocalypse that I knew wasn’t going to happen!”

  “But, I need you, Abbey,” I pleaded. “Look, this whole apocalypse thing, it got me too. I mean, I didn’t prepare for it, but do you know what kind of horrible emotions I’ve been bombarded with for the last year? I’d have gone insane if it weren’t for you.”

  Abbey regarded me with pity and shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? I haven’t been sane for years and I’m afraid it’s gone and affected you as well.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she simply shook her head and gave me the briefest of hugs. “Goodbye Seth, and good luck,” she said before stepping away. I turned away, but not fast enough to avoid the blinding flash as she shimmered out of existence, gone forever.

  Well, I shouldn’t say forever. In fact, by the time I reached the steps that led down to the Five Penny, her soul would have likely already been reborn. Not as Abbey, mind you, and with no recollection of her life as a Guardian of Order. Her soul would begin life anew, just as we all do, until the day she is again called upon to fulfill a need in the name of Order. But that, if it even happened, would be centuries into the future. For now, no one would remember Abbey the bartender. That’s the part I’ve heard is the hardest. When an agent of Order returns to the Cycle, they cease to exist in the memories of those they’ve met. Everyone whose soul Abbey touched will have a vague memory of some vague person who once gave them some vague advice that led them to their destiny, but nothing more. I alone would carry the weight of remembering. Although it would be for the best if I too forgot.