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  RAISING THE PAST

  Origins Edition

  By Jeremy Robinson

  Book #2

  Dear Reader,

  My career as an author began in a very different way from most authors. I didn’t submit my books to agents or publishers; I self-published them under the umbrella of a small press I created, Breakneck Books. With each book release, I got feedback from readers, both good and bad, and used the critiques to improve my writing. So while most authors take their licks in private in the form of off-the-record advice from industry pros, I was flogged in the public square for all to see. My growth as an author has been a very public affair.

  But it worked. Not only did my writing improve with each book, but so did my sales. And by the third book release, ANTARKTOS RISING, I had captured the attention of Scott Miller, my superb agent at Trident Media Group, and Peter Wolverton, editor supreme at Thomas Dunne Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Press, who has signed me on for five novels—PULSE, INSTINCT, THRESHOLD, SECONDWORLD and ISLAND 731, the first three of which are now (4-27-2011) in print.

  RAISING THE PAST was my second novel and is based on a screenplay of the same name. It’s also a very different story from THE DIDYMUS CONTINGENCY, my first novel, and began the great debate among fans: is Jeremy Robinson a Christian or not? In DIDYMUS, the hero was a believer. In RAISING THE PAST, the heroes believe in evolution and I provide an alternate version for how the human race became corrupt.

  What I’ve always wanted people to take away from the different beliefs of my characters is that my heroes are not me. I don’t believe everything they do. I write books that assume the Bible is accurate (THE DIDYMUS CONTINGENCY, ANTARKTOS RISING, KRONOS). Others are entirely based on science (BENEATH and RAISING THE PAST). I also write books in which ancient myths are real and living among us (The Chess Team/Jack Sigler Series and THE LAST HUNTER Series). The point is, and always has been, I write to entertain, and I draw stories from every available source of cool, freaky and fascinating material I can find. In some ways, RAISING THE PAST is different from the other books because it doesn’t draw from any historical source other than the ones conjured up for this story. It’s pure fiction. As far as I know.

  I hope you enjoy this second chapter of the five books that comprise the origins of my career. Let the flogging continue!

  -- Jeremy Robinson

  To experience my growth as an author, check out the Origins books in chronological order:

  • THE DIDYMUS CONTINGENCY

  • RAISING THE PAST

  • BENEATH

  • ANTARKTOS RISING

  • KRONOS

  FICTION by JEREMY ROBINSON

  (click to view on Amazon and buy)

  The Last Hunter - Pursuit

  The Last Hunter - Descent

  Insomnia

  Threshold

  Instinct

  Pulse

  Kronos

  Antarktos Rising

  Beneath

  Raising the Past

  The Didymus Contingency

  The Zombie's Way (humor under the pen name Ike Onsoomyu)

  RAISING THE PAST

  By Jeremy Robinson

  © 2007, 2011 Jeremy Robinson. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to: [email protected]

  Visit Jeremy Robinson on the World Wide Web at: www.jeremyrobinsononline.com

  Table of Contents

  Quotations

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sample of THE LAST HUNTER

  Sample of ANTARKTOS RISING

  Help Spread the Word!

  For Solomon

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank the following folks, without whom I would be lost.

  Before this novel saw the light of day, it was read by numerous people whose critiques and editing helped shape what it is today. They are: Hilaree Robinson, Roger Brodeur, Frank Robinson, Lauren Rossini, Frank Ferris and Karen Cooper.

  Thanks also to Kane Gilmour, editor supreme who helped make this Origins Edition far superior to the earlier release.

  Stan (AOE) and Liz Tremblay, Sarah Valeri, Brian (AOE) Dombroski, Tom Mungovan, Aaron and Stasia Brodeur and Kathy Crisp, your encouragement, prayers and friendship are always needed and welcome.

  As seems to be an ongoing theme, I am honored to have had the advice of author James Rollins who was yet again kind enough to supply the blurb gracing the cover of this book. He is a phenomenal author and a great inspiration to me.

  Special thanks to my uncle, Mark Vincent, my cousin Brian Norwood and my friend, Brian Dombroski, who all appear as characters in this book. Though your characters are nothing like you, I hope you enjoy your fates.

  And what would I be without my wife, Hilaree? Not much of anything is my guess. I owe you so much. I hope this book makes you proud of the sacrifices you’ve made so I could write it. My feisty daughter, Aquila, you never cease to amaze me and continue to inspire me. And little Solomon, who has just been born and is already making us smile, you are more amazing than any story I could concoct. I love you all dearly.

  “The only way God could impose peace on the world would be to robotize our wills and rob every human being of the power of choice. He has not chosen to do that. He has given every person a free will.”

  “And the Lord God commanded the man, ‘You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat of it you will surely die.’”

  – Genesis 2: 16-17 (NIV)

  “Free will, as I see it now, is an illusion, dangled in front of our noses like a carrot before a donkey. We desire it all our lives; we fight wars for it. But the will of every human being is influenced by outside forces whose motivation is selfish in nature. Free will, true free will, is as extinct as the dinosaurs.”

  – Dr. Eddy Moore - Paleontologist

  PROLOGUE

  HAPHNEE

  Haphnee’s tongue recoiled as her mouth filled with blood. She had bitten her lip with shivering teeth and popped her flesh open like cooked sausage. When she inspected the damaged area with her tongue, she was glad that the same cold shredding her skin also kept her from feeling the pain of the wound.

  Three layers of hand-cut fur wrapped and bound to Haphnee’s body did little to speed her travel through the three foot wash of snow or stop the
winter chill from cracking her leathery face. She spit blood from her mouth, staining the white snow, and pushed forward. She was spurred onward by the knowledge that her people, who had only just emerged from a life of scrounging in the wilderness, might soon face a future predetermined by others “more cunning than the smartest man and more powerful than even the mighty mammoth.”

  Haphnee's mind drifted to the past as she recalled the man who had originally spoken those words.

  Fifteen years had passed since Haphnee had met the strange visitors from another land. It was a day she remembered well…

  Haphnee rested on a moss covered boulder after a long afternoon of picking wild berries, when three men approached her. In years past, men from other tribes had tried taking her—claiming her for their own. The first man to try escaped with a few scrapes and bruises, but the next more persistent man lost his life. Since then, she hadn’t had any trouble from neighboring tribesmen. But these men were different. They hadn’t avoided her because of her reputation as a fierce and skillful warrior—it was for her reputation that they sought her out.

  The men stood taller than most and nearly two feet taller than Haphnee. But they weren’t just tall; they were straight, like trees. Their arms were long and covered in fine hair, like that of a baby. How can these men survive the winters? She had wondered. And their clothing was odd—it rested flat against their bodies and was thin. Their clothes were devoid of fur, not suitable for even the warmest day.

  But what stood out to Haphnee most were their faces—wide eyes, pale skin, trim beards. All three smiled with bright white teeth, like she had never seen before. They stopped ten feet from her and waited, neither moving nor talking.

  Haphnee drew her saber-jaw.

  “Fear not, good woman,” said the tallest man. “We are from a distant tribe called the Aeros. My name is Artuke.”

  Haphnee squinted at the men. Most tribes couldn’t speak the language of neighboring tribes, but these men, whom she had never seen before, could speak her language with the fluidity of her kinsmen. She eyed the three men. The short one will go easiest, Haphnee thought. The thick one would be slow and could be caught off guard before the entrails of the first hit the ground, and the tallest one, Artuke…she’d just wound him and let him limp home to show the others of his tribe that Haphnee of the Jetush was not available.

  She waited for their attack, but it never came. Artuke took a step forward and Haphnee raised her saber-jaw. But then he just sat on a rock and motioned for his comrades to do the same. “Haphnee, we are not here to harm you,” Artuke said with a grin.

  “How do you know my name?” She asked.

  “We know many things.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your help.”

  During her twenty-eight years of life, Haphnee had given birth to five children, migrated thousands of miles and battled every size and shape of animal, but never once had a man asked for her help.

  “No.”

  “There is a grave danger to your people, whom we know you love,” Artuke said, then paused as Haphnee tightened her grip on the saber-jaw and focused her eyes on his throat.

  “Haphnee, it is apparent you do not consider the three of us a threat to you, even alone. Why would you consider us a threat to your entire people?”

  After standing in silence for a moment, Haphnee let her muscles relax. She sat on a rock across from the three men and crossed her thick arms. “Tell me.”

  “There is a tribe like ours—”

  Haphnee squinted again.

  “…only in that they come from a faraway land,” Artuke said. “In every other respect they are the antithesis to our peace-loving people.”

  Haphnee relaxed again and Artuke continued. “We have given them the name ‘Ferox,’ because we do not know much more about them other than they spread death and destruction wherever they go.”

  “Let them come,” said Haphnee. “They have yet to face the warriors of Jetush.”

  “They do not attack out in the open; if they did, even you would not survive. They are more cunning than the smartest member of your tribe and even more powerful than the mighty mammoth. Your people would not be aware that these men even arrived. They will join your tribe and lead it to destruction. They are the corruptors of worlds. They—”

  “Your tribe fell to them.”

  Artuke seemed pleased by the statement. “You are truly wise, Haphnee. Indeed, the Ferox came to our land and brought our proud people to the brink of ruin. But we discovered their deception and purged the beasts in time.”

  “And now you are warning others,” Haphnee said.

  Artuke nodded.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Artuke motioned to the thick man, who stepped to the side, revealing an object on the ground behind him. Haphnee became nervous, shifting on her rock. Still, if there was any truth to these strange men’s story, she was determined to learn it. Artuke pointed to the object and it opened like a skin sack, but it was unlike any skin she had seen before.

  It looked like an egg…like a large, gray, bird’s egg, but oblong and not as rounded. Click! The object popped open and flashed red fire at her. Haphnee drew her saber-jaw and prepared for a fight. It never came. The men of the Aeros tribe smiled and motioned for her to inspect the object.

  “Step back,” Haphnee said, nodding toward the forest floor.

  Artuke bowed and backed away.

  After a few tense moments, Haphnee moved to the the object and took it in her hands. Its surface was cool to the touch. It was hard, the hardest thing she had ever felt, but it was also very light. She thought it would make an excellent grinding stone. When she looked up, the three men had vanished. Before she could search for them, a light like a small red sun, flashed at her from inside the object. She inspected it, certain a flame must be burning inside.

  The light flashed blue, causing Haphnee to drop the object to the ground and leap back. What happened next she would never forget. It was enough to change the way she thought about her world, her people and her future.

  That was the day Haphnee dedicated her life to the Aeros’s cause. She waited and watched for the signs they told her about—the signs of the Ferox.

  She had to wait only a year.

  Leaders emerged, skilled at rallying the people to a common cause. The Ferox influence was so subtle that none of the tribesmen in any tribe noticed their culture being swayed.

  But Haphnee did.

  Tribes squabbled and small numbers of men died, but then alliances were born and soon huge bands of warriors from both sides of the river were slaughtering each other for land that they had shared without malice for generations—and all the while, tribes grew larger, stronger and more advanced. One could not walk through the forest without the constant threat of attack or stumbling upon a field of dead bodies.

  Still the Ferox influence spread, as tribe after tribe fell into line and into service. Men grew smarter, but their advances destroyed rather than improving, and even beasts of burden were used as mobile weapons. With all the death, Haphnee wasn’t sure there would be enough tribesmen left to continue fighting, but the Ferox tribes grew. They advanced at a staggering rate and had soon changed the way the world had been.

  After fifteen years of observation, making certain it was in fact the Ferox’s influence on her people, Haphnee realized the time to act had arrived. It was her duty to call back the Aeros, who promised to return and remove the Ferox. She knew the trials she would face on her quest would be the hardest of her life.

  She was now, at forty-three, one of the oldest among her people, not even considered strong enough to join the hunt. It had been ten years since a man tried to take her to a neighboring tribe, and her reputation had long since diminished. Her people saw her as an undesirable old woman with nothing to offer. How wrong they were. If only they knew their lives, the lives of all people, were now in her hands.

  In the dark of night, Haphnee packed what she could, st
ealing furs from two of the other women, and headed north through the woods. Seven days later, she found herself in a desolate land—the frozen hills, where her people never ventured.

  A second gush of blood from Haphnee’s ruptured lip brought her back to the present. She spit the blood out and looked over her shoulder, following a thick twine cord up to a looming shadow. She stopped and waited for the shadow to emerge through the fog of falling snow, which fell constantly in this evil, frigid land.

  Why the Aeros had put their—what had they called it?—beacon, in such a foreboding land was beyond her. Perhaps the Ferox weren’t inclined to cold temperatures, or maybe so no other men might stumble upon it, take it for an evil god and destroy it. She knew they must have had a good reason, but just then she wished it was someone else who had to make this journey.

  The wooly mammoth stepped forward and emerged from the blanket of snow, its thick brown hair matted and wet. The creature stopped in front of its master and shook the snow from its head. Haphnee gasped and ducked as the beast’s ten foot tusks whooshed over her head.

  “Teechoo, watch yourself,” Haphnee said through the thick hide wrapped over her face, as she shot an annoyed glance at the mammoth’s broad head.

  But Teechoo wasn’t watching what he was doing because he couldn’t see at all. It was Haphnee’s touch on his trunk that allowed him to sense her.

  Haphnee saw that Teechoo’s eyes had frozen shut. She felt her own tears form and solidify with the thought that her companion, who had been her friend since childhood, was going to die for his loyalty to her. Why had she dragged him along?