Hero's Call (Hero Chronicles Book 1)

  A Hero Chronicles Book

  Copyright© 2016 by Ben Mariner

  Cover Art by Ben Mariner, but Christina McMullen totally helped

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  Hero’s Call

  Book One

  Of

  The Hero Chronicles

  By

  Ben Mariner

  To all the brilliant minds that created the first Heroes and Villains who have inspired this story. I am but a humble admirer to your excellence.

  Prologue

  50 years ago

  Seven was roused from his relaxation period by a summons from The Council. There was to be an Assembly. To Seven’s knowledge, there hadn’t been an Assembly in twenty-two aeons. Over two hundred years in human reckoning. Quite a long time, but the An’Fari had no reason to track time.

  Seven moved across his chambers to the compartment where he kept his ceremonial garments. He pressed the button beside the door and the clothes slowly shuffled by with a quiet, metallic whirl. He let go of the button when his Assembly Robes came round. They were made of a clean, soft material similar to human silk. The majority of the robe was a deep green like the leaves on the trees that are so prevalent on Earth. A pale white V-stripe came down from each shoulder to the middle of the chest and back.

  A series of what humans would crassly call squiggly lines, were placed in the middle of the V. The symbols were the language of the An’Fari. For those who could read them, they signified him as nothing more than the Acolyte he was. Acolyte Seven to be exact, nearing the end of his journey into becoming a full-fledged member of The Council. He started as a member of a lesser Council, but it would only be a matter of time before The Council itself will be heeding his sagely advice.

  He slid the robe on. The material was soft against the almost transparent material that was his skin. An’Fari skin was balanced somewhere between water and the gelatinous substance the people of Earth call Jell-O. It’s solid to the touch, but to look at, it appeared to be completely liquid. When Seven’s people first landed on Earth they were called Water Men in the natives’ tongue. He could no longer remember the words they used.

  Seven stepped out of his chambers into a long metallic hallway. It gleamed, glistened, but did not reflect. At the end of the hall he took a right followed by two lefts, and then a long curving corridor to the right. He passed no one.

  The doors to the Council Hall were closed as usual. A small, round camera resembling a large human eye came out of the wall on a long metallic arm. It scanned his body up and down with a pulsing red light.

  “Identify,” a steely computerized voice said.

  “Acolyte Seven,” he replied indifferently.

  There was a series of beeps and clicks, and the camera slid smoothly back into the wall. The doors to the Council Hall slid open with absolute silence.

  Inside there were a massive number of rows spread out in front of him. Each row filled with seats, each seat filled with a body in the same robes as Seven. The only difference was the symbols on their chests. He walked past the seemingly endless rows of his fellow species. As he walked he could feel eyes follow him up the aisle. All of his people in the rows behind him were striving to be in his position or higher. Starting at the back of the Hall, they were organized by their current position in the Acolyte tutelage. Most of them would never make it as far as him. Many of them wouldn’t even make it past halfway.

  As he approached the front of the Hall the rows decreased in size. If one was to look down from above, the rows would look like great pyramids, each tip ending in a circle around The Great Dais itself. He came to his row and sat down next to another Acolyte.

  “Acolyte Seven,” he said with a nod of recognition as Seven took his place.

  “Six,” Seven said in reply.

  Seven turned in his seat and faced forward, sitting in silence. Less than a second later, a door on the side of the chamber opened. The seven members of The Council filed in one by one and took their seats, each of them wearing a robe similar to Seven’s, only red and black as opposed to his green and white.

  “You have been brought here today to bear witness to testimony given by one of Earth’s Heroes,” one of the Council members said once they were seated. “He claims that his statement is of the utmost importance, and implores The Council to hear his words. Please allow our guest to enter.”

  A door on the opposite side of the room from which The Council entered slid open and a man entered. He was wearing a baby blue jumpsuit with white shoulder pads, gloves, boots, and belt. A stark white cape flowed out behind him as he strode seriously across the hall. Under his left arm he carried his specially designed helmet, which was also white. The helmet was designed to keep unfriendly psychic attacks out. Instead of the helmet, on top of his head grew a thick patch of wavy blond hair he’d kept immaculately prepped and neat. On his chest was his emblem: the human symbol for male with an all seeing eye in the center of its circle.

  His name was Mesmero. He was a great Hero of Earth, as well as a longtime partner of Captain Amazing. His psychic abilities have far overshadowed those of any of his psychic predecessors. Some say he has seen far into the future, but refuses to speak of what he’s seen, saying that it is folly for man to know his future.

  He sat down in the chair provided him, giving his cape an unnecessary flourish to land behind the chair.

  “Welcome, Mesmero,” The Council Member on the end said, and returned to his seat.

  “I am most humbled to be allowed in the Great Hall of the Elders,” Mesmero said genuinely. His voice was solid, almost impossible to read. “It is an auspicious event that my eyes fall on this most sacred place while I bear great tidings.”

  “Good tidings are most welcome to The Council’s ears,” the first Council Member on the right said. “We were afraid, with the urgency you begged to be heard, you were to bring ill tidings.”

  “The Council is aware, I’m sure, of the Dreadnaught Virus,” Mesmero said, a tint of sadness in his voice, “the deplorable virus that is destroying the Hero Gene, making it unable to pass from generation to generation.”

  “We are aware of the virus,” the fourth Council Member said solemnly, “have you brought news of who created it or possibly a cure?”

  “Unfortunately, I do not,” Mesmero said bitterly. “We are no closer to finding the answers to those questions than we were when we first heard of the virus. They lie as blurred images to my mind’s eye.”

  “Then what news of the virus did you bring us?” the sixth Council Member asked.

  “I have gazed deeply into the future,” Mesmero said, standing from his seat and started to pace. “Many things were unclear to me, but one thing was definite. A most desolate, unhappy future lies ahead for Earth. The Dreadnaught Virus will span generations, and the Earth will be in turmoil. Wars wil
l break out across the globe and Villains that were long forgotten will return to wreak havoc.”

  “These are tidings of the illest sort, Mesmero,” the second Council Member said, “I eagerly await the good tidings you spoke of.”

  “They are terrible, that’s true,” Mesmero spoke softly, “but out of the darkness there comes a ray of light. I know not when it will be, and many years of hardship are ahead of us. But from the dark, sad days a Hero will rise again.”

  Chapter One

  Autumn 1999

  “Get your lazy butt out of bed, Milo,” Milo Radcliff’s mother said, poking him in the ribs with one of her bony fingers.

  “Mom, I’m awake,” Milo said, pushing her hand away from his side.

  “You’re going to be late for school.”

  “I’ve never been late to school in my life, mom,” he said sitting up in bed.

  “And that’s because I’m your mother,” she replied, and stormed out of the room.

  Milo stood up from his bed and looked around the room. On the walls were several posters of Britney Spears, the love of his life. The floor was littered with clothes. Milo Radcliff did not believe in hampers.

  He walked out the room and into the hallway. Milo called that particular hallway the Hall of Fame. Lining the walls were pictures of his ancestors. Heroes from days long forgotten. They were arranged chronologically. The first was an old black and white picture of The Army of Justice: The Gray Ghost, Cat’s Claw, Weather Wizard, Melinda the Magician, The Ray of Light, Empress Liana, Thunder Bolt, and The Marvelous Maiden. His great-great-great-grandparents. Those were good days, or so Milos was told. It had been a long time since days like that. The rest of the pictures were random snapshots of the various Heroes of his family in action. Milo’s second favorite picture was of his great-great uncle, Unstoppable Man, bursting through a cement wall. Nothing could stop him once he started moving. His favorite picture was the one of his great-grandfather, Captain Amazing, with Czar Destructo, his nemesis, in handcuffs surrounded by a horde of reporters. It was a great day for Captain Amazing, and the picture gave Milo chills every time he looked at it.

  Milo brushed his teeth and took a quick shower before returning to his room to get dressed for the day.

  He walked back through the Hall of Fame and down the stairs, making a quick U-turn at the bottom to head to the kitchen. His mom was standing at the stove, her dirty blond hair hung frizzy around her shoulders. She was wearing a pink and white sundress with a frilly white and red apron over that. Steam was rising from pot in front of her. A stack of waffles and a bowl of fresh fruit were on the table.

  “Eat quick, or you’ll be late,” she said as Milo sat down at the table. She set down a pot of hot oatmeal in front of him. He skewered a couple of waffles and slapped them on his plate, pouring hot maple syrup on top of them. After that, he scooped several spoons of oatmeal into a bowl. His mom poured him a tall glass of milk.

  “Don’t eat too fast, you’ll choke,” she said as he stuffed a large bite of waffles into his mouth.

  Milo’s mother, Brooke Radcliff – bless her tormented soul – had been cursed with a case of the worries. She was constantly in a state of panic about something, whether it was Milo getting home from school safe, or her husband having an accident at the office. Milo guessed she got it from her mother, his grandma, Julie. She was a big worrier too. Their worrying is hardly ever substantiated, though. They’re both just the very definition of a worrywart. Milo shrugged it off as he usually does, and stuffed another big bite in his mouth.

  When he was finished eating, and the glass of milk was bone dry, Milo got up from the table and set his dirty dishes in the sink. Brooke immediately started to scrub them with a sponge.

  “You better get going,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re going—”

  “To be late,” he said, cutting her off. “I got it, mom. Love you.”

  “Love you too, honey,” his mom called after him. “Have a good day.”

  Milo walked through the house, grabbed his tattered navy blue backpack, and stepped into the garage. His father’s car was gone. His mother’s car, a beige mini-van, was still parked in its usual spot. The walls were covered with odd bits from different holidays, and his father’s tools that he rarely used. Milo’s bike was sitting against stacks of discarded skateboards, skis, and unused lawn care equipment. He hoisted it up and threw his left leg over.

  The streets were quiet. Most of the adults on the block were already at work. The kids were either at school already or waiting at the corner for the bus. Milo rode idly down the street, a cool, perfect breeze on his face. At the corner, two other kids on bikes waved him down.

  The first, a young boy on a forest green mountain bike, had curly auburn hair and a crooked smile. He was about three inches taller than Milo, but much more wiry. He was wearing a black Metallica t-shirt, and a pair of grass stained jeans. Slung on his back was an orange and brown backpack. He put his red and white Nike basketball shoes on the sidewalk and wheeled the bike around to face Milo.

  William “Bill” Meyers was Milo’s best friend. Their families had known each other since the boys were six, and had done everything together ever since. His family was also a long line of descendants from Heroes. None of them are still living, and Bill doesn’t talk about it much, but Milo thought one of his great uncles or something was Mesmero. Bill would never confirm nor deny that whenever Milo had asked, but Milo thought he’d done his research well enough.

  The other was a young girl on a fuchsia bike. She had sleek blond hair pulled back in a ponytail through a baseball cap. She was wearing an old white baseball shirt with maroon three-quarter length sleeves. A large maroon eight was on her back. Her jeans were clean, but had a large tear in the right knee. When she saw Bill pull his bike around, she did the same.

  Calliope Bishop, Cali to her friends, moved to town three years after Bill and his family. Another child of Heroes, or more like a child of a child of a child of Heroes. Calliope didn’t like to talk about her family very much either. Milo could never figure out what Heroes’ blood was in her, but, if he wasn’t descended from every single one of The Marvelous Maiden’s himself, he’d guess she would be the next to take the title. Milo thought Cali was built perfectly for the part from looking at photos of the old Marvelous Maidens. Tall, pretty, and just the right amount of curvy, if Milo was being honest. He’d never say such a thing to her, however, as it would only result in one of his eyes being blacked at the very least.

  “Hey guys,” Milo said as he skidded his bike to a halt in front of them.

  “Hey, Milo,” they said in unison.

  “I’ve got a totally excellent plan to get back at Devon,” he said pulling a tape recorder out of his backpack.

  “Where did you get that?” Cali asked. She always got a very motherly tone when they did things they shouldn’t.

  “My dad left it behind, so I borrowed it,” Milo said with a shrug. “I’ve been using it for a couple of days. It’s all part of my plan.”

  “That’s awesome,” Bill said in awe, “What’s the plan?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see, pal.”

  “I wish you guys would just drop this whole thing,” Cali said shaking her head. “It’s so immature.”

  The feud between Milo and Devon Macledowny had been going on since the fifth grade. Milo didn’t know what started it exactly; maybe Devon just didn’t like him. Devon was a typical bully-type. Father doesn’t love him, mother beats him, what have you. He took his aggression out on other people, usually the smaller kids that couldn’t stand up for themselves. Once their feud had started, Devon had turned his attention primarily to Milo. It was all right with Milo, because he didn’t want Devon bullying any of the younger kids who didn’t deserve it. They went back and forth. Devon would knock Milo down in the hall, or pull his pants down in the lunchroom. Milo would answer back, only in more clever ways. Once he had put a pudding cup on his seat just before Devon sat do
wn. The whole school thought Devon hadn’t been able to make it to the bathroom in time. They taunted him for days. On another occasion, and this was Milo’s favorite moment of revenge, he had taken Devon’s bike and put the frame around the school flagpole. No one knew how he had done it, and he refused to tell anyone. His current scheme was shaping up to be another classic.

  They set off for school riding in a single file line. Milo was at the front, Cali behind him, and Bill at the back. They went on sidewalks most of the way, but about halfway to the school, they turned down the railroad tracks and cruised the rest of the way to school. They liked taking the train track because they would find interesting things every once in a while. Their personal favorite was a neon green Motorola pager that was still in working condition. They had argued for two days about who should get to keep the old beeper. In the end, they had decided to keep it between them on a rotating basis until Bill’s mother had found it and confiscated it. There was nothing of interest on the tracks that day.

  Buckland High School was a miserable brick building in the shape of an L. The student entrance was located inside of the L where the two wings met. The bike rack was about fifteen feet to the left of the doors. The three of them were fairly early because of the shortcut down the train tracks, so there was plenty of room to lock up their bikes. Everyone had been locking their bikes with extra locks since the flagpole caper. Not that they needed it. Milo swore it was a one-time occurrence.

  They locked up the bikes and hoofed it inside. The halls were slowly filling with students getting ready for the school day. There was a very nervous looking freshman shuffling through books and loose papers in her locker. Milo didn’t know who she was, but every time he saw her she looked nervous. A little ways down the hall, a group of senior football players were standing in a circle laughing raucously at the punch line of a dirty joke Milo had just caught the end of.