Indigo Kids

Saffina Desforges

Description

Jax is an ordinary girl in a less-than-ordinary world. She thinks her life sucks & that it probably always will. She couldn't be more wrong. Someone is watching her. Someone wants her and her special gift - a gift she doesn't know she has. She is being called. They are being called. It's time for the beginning of the end. It's time for, Awakenings.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: eBookPartnership.com
• Date de parution: 21 octobre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781908961556
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright ©Stevie Jordan & Karen Osborne 2013
 
Stevie Jordan& Karen Osborne have asserted their rights in accordance withthe Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as theauthors of this work.
 
 
Edition,License Notes
 
This ebook islicensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not bere-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to sharethis book with another person, please purchase an additional copyfor each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did notpurchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then pleasereturn to and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting thehard work of this author.
 
 
 
This story is awork of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to personsliving or dead is purely coincidental.
 
 
ISBN:9781301515677
 
 
Seven specialchildren - one mission.
 
Through timeand space, seven uniquely talented children are calledtogether.
 
Connected by aninvisible thread and each with a special gift, they are given asupremely important job.
 
To save theworld.
 
They are thechosen ones.
 
They are - theIndigo Kids.
 
 
IndigoKids
 
‘ Awakenings’

 
Book Two
 
Hadi
 
By
 
Saffina Desforges (writing as Stevie Jordan)
&
KarenOsborne
 
 
 
Indigochildren ~ children believed to possess special,unusual and sometimes supernatural traits or abilities.
 
 
 
 
Location:Cairo, Egypt
Date: Sometimein the near future
1.
 
 
“Hadi!” DonyaAshad shrieked from the kitchen. “Answer the door will you? Thatinfernal ringing is hurting my brain.”
The ringingcontinued.
“Hadi! Are youdeaf? Answer the damn door I said!”
Hadi stared atthe computer screen. Head tilted to one side, his brow scarred withlines of concentration. The self-set puzzle flickered before hiseyes, taunting him.
A wet ragslapped him in the face. “Huh?”
“The door,Hadi, answer the door! You, my only son who hears nothing but thesounds inside his own head.”
Shaking the fogthat enveloped his thoughts, Hadi pushed back his chair and rantoward the jangling of the doorbell.
“Hello.” Hadishielded his eyes with a hand from the burning midday sun.
“Are you HadiAshad?”
“I am.”
“I have aletter for you.” A man with features too large for his face,stooped to fit under the doorway. Grey robes flapped around him ashe thrust a folded piece of paper under Hadi’s nose. “You must readit now and give me your reply.”
Donya appearedat her son’s side. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Hadi reachedout, brown eyes transfixed by the paper now in his hands.
“What is this?”Snatching the letter from Hadi, she glared at the stranger in grey.“What do you want with my son?”
When the mandidn’t answer, Donya’s eyes fell to the gold typeface:
 
Hadi Ashad
You have beeninvited to attend an interview as a prospective initiate into thetraining sector of our prestigious Institute.
If you acceptthis invitation, you will be collected at 0700 hours on Thursdaymorning.
Signed
The Directorof Education, Institute of Financial Technology
 
Donya draggedher eyes back up to the man, confusion wrinkling her brow.
“Madam, yourson’s name has come to our attention as an exceptional talent inthe field of Information Technology. We have read his schoolreports and seen his test results, he is truly a genius in hischosen subject. If Hadi is accepted into the Institute, he willnever want for anything again. His future will be assured, as willyours.” He ended his explanation with a slight bow, turning toHadi. “I strongly encourage you to accept this opportunity.”
Donya lookeddown at her son. The state-issued glasses he wore magnifying hiseyes, making them look like enormous brown saucers; the thick,scratched bridge resting awkwardly halfway down his tiny nose.
An image ofHadi’s father flashed into Donya’s mind. Her beautiful, handsomehusband that had not long ago given his life for the cause, crying,“Freedom for Egypt!” as he took his last breath—a final standagainst the corruption that had kept the majority of its people sovery poor.
She wonderedwhat he would have thought of them now. As they stood looking outon a new Egypt where nobody really went hungry anymore; where allthe children went to school and life had grown comfortable andsafe. Would he have been pleased or, like her, would he have seenthe light and colour slowly fade from his people? Would he stand byas she did, watching the dying of the flames that once lit theireyes and filled their bellies? Now their bellies were full of sweetthings and fast food and like their purses, many had grown fat.Donya sighed, an ache settling in her heart as she realised, no,her husband would not be pleased.
Their Cairo hadbecome yet another city of the outrageously wealthy. A capitalistglass metropolis - whose towers seemed to pierce the heavens andhide their houses of prayer, dwarfing them beneath shards of coldsteel.
As the shinypinnacles grew, so the faithful had shrunk in their worship.
No one seemedto have time for their God anymore. The ethereal sound of beingcalled to hang your head and pray, fading to a quiet whisper. Aonce-mellifluous voice luring fathers and sons, mothers anddaughters to sing in the same choir, forever connected, had grownhoarse. New Cairo and its people were disjointed by their appetitefor things , for the trinkets of prestige.
Tears sparkledat the corner of Donya’s eyes as she looked down at Hadi, burdenedby her unwavering faith and her desire for a better future for heronly child.
The man in greyswayed silently as he awaited her response.
“My answer isnot a resounding no, but I need time to think about your proposal,”Donya finally said.
“Madam, withthe greatest of respect, this is not your decision.” The man lookedat Hadi. “You, Master Ashad, are the one being invited. Thedecision must be yours.”
Hadi droppedhis ashamed gaze to the floor, a tumult of emotions churning hisinsides. “I will come,” he said quietly. “After all, they may notaccept me or I them.”
The man’seyebrows shot up. Straightening, he said, “You will not regret yourchoice.” He gently took the paper from Donya’s hands. Holding itflat in a palm, he showed it to Hadi.
The boy reachedout a shaking hand.
The man guidedHadi’s forefinger to the letter, pressing it against the yellowingparchment.
Donya sucked ina breath, a hand flying to her throat as a colourless stain spreadacross the page beneath his fingertip. A cold, ice-like gripclutched at her heart and filled it with dread as she watched atiny bit of her son’s soul vanish forever.
 
2.
 
 
The sounds andsmells of The Old Bazaar invaded Donya’s memory as she duckedbehind the ugly, mirrored facade of the shopping mall that hadreplaced it.
Long gone wasthe narrow, dusty orange labyrinth of tunnels that used tocriss-cross the main square—myriad shops and stalls bearingunimaginable delights. She could almost hear the buzz and hum ofspirit traders, swore she could smell the delicious aromas ofcinnamon and all-spice as she hurried along an almost-disusedstreet, her thoughts unable to prise themselves away from herson.
Hadi, her son,whom she had left alone in their humble home, tapping away at thefaded letters of his keyboard, researching the Institute that hadoffered him so much hope; yet caused a riotous fight within hisconscience.
Beads swishedand clacked together as Donya brushed them aside, stepping into anold silk shop.
A mountain ofcoloured rolls climbed to the ceiling and beyond, beautiful,vibrant colours that shone and sparkled in the early eveningsunlight; colours that Donya wondered why no one ever wore anymore.Judging by the way the shop had shrunk since the last time she hadbeen there, every spare inch now occupied by a silk-coveredcardboard tube, nobody bought fabric on the roll anymoreeither.
With the swishof a curtain, The Old Lady of the Bazaar appeared, kicking up acloud of dust with her sandalled feet. Her leather-brown face litup with a toothless smile.
“I’ve come tocross your palm with silver.” Donya held out a coin, returning thesmile.
“Surely nobodybelieves in my nonsense anymore.” The lady gestured with a gnarledhand to a drunken-looking counter, swathed in turquoise,sequin-kissed silk, somehow supporting a battered cashregister.
Donya followedthe woman as she shuffled across, barely lifting her feet from theclay floor. “My Mother believed it and her mother before that andnow, so shall I. We cannot let go of all our oldest ofways.”
The old ladynodded, taking her rightful position behind the counter. Reachinginto her robes, she pulled out a slab of the blackest silk andplaced it gently before them. Unfolding each corner with the utmostcare, she peeled the fabric away to reveal a deck of cards.
Smoothing thesilk flat with a gentle caress, she showed Donya her line-riddledpalms, offering her the cards.
Closing hereyes—allowing Hadi’s face to fill every corner of herthoughts—Donya felt for the deck, turning it over and over in herhands. A million voices whispered into the annals of her mind, themother tongue of every language colliding, the rough edges of thecards the only connection with the twenty-first century as shescrewed her eyes tight shut, willing her questions through her skinand into the pack. Inhaling, she opened her eyes.
“Place them inthe centre of the cloth,” the old lady said, rheumy eyes fixingthemselves on Donya.
Bony fingersturned over three cards. Dust motes danced in the shaft of yellowlight slicing its way through from the street as it fell onto thedeck before them.
“Your son isrepresented by The Hermit.” The old lady tapped the first card witha hooked nail, searching Donya’s face for a flicker ofunderstanding. “It is him that you seek answers for, yes?”
Donyanodded.
The old ladyshook her head, dropping a watery gaze back to the spread. “He isto enter a place that I cannot go to or see into. It’s blurred—veryunclear.”
“Go on.”
“Your son isobscured, some kind of shroud surrounds him. A grey mist. Hisfeatures are no