The Ferocious Force (Unstoppable Liv Beaufont Book 8)
The Ferocious Force
Unstoppable Liv Beaufont™ Book 8
Sarah Noffke
Michael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2019 Sarah Noffke & Michael Anderle
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US Edition, July 2019
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-363-3
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Sarah’s Author Notes
Michael’s Author Notes
Acknowledgments
Books By Sarah Noffke
YA Dystopian Fantasy
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
The Ferocious Force Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Daniel Weigert
Nicole Emens
Jeff Eaton
John Ashmore
Dorothy Lloyd
Crystal Wren
Kelly O’Donnell
Peter Manis
Misty Roa
Micky Cocker
Jeff Goode
Larry Omans
Angel LaVey
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
The Skyhunter Editing Team
For Trudy.
The first day we met, you called me a tiger.
Still my favorite college class ever. And the one that flamed my fire for writing.
— Sarah
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
Chapter One
The rough waters of the Atlantic Ocean licked at the boat, making it rock violently. Still the giant stood firmly, not even swayed off balance by the turbulent seas. Bermuda Laurens knew the waters were trying to push her away. She could feel their uncooperative nature. That was actually what had lured her to this very spot.
Lifting the binoculars to her face, she peered through. Bermuda shook her head, not having seen the signs she’d been looking for for over three days. Soon she’d have to pull up the anchor and give up.
The giant had been all over the world. Seen things most couldn’t even imagine. And yet, being in this spot off the Canary Islands filled her with constant dread. The chilly winds ran up her back, messing up her curly hair.
Pulling her brimmed hat from a nearby cubby on the bridge, she stuck it on her head. Bermuda could withstand the unforgiving winds and salty air another several weeks, but what she couldn’t face was the empty feeling that plagued these waters. Still, she was determined to give this voyage a fair chance. She’d give up because she’d found nothing, but not because she was afraid of that which lurked somewhere under these seas.
“Where are you?” Bermuda muttered to herself, still searching the surface of the waters.
“You know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity?” Plato asked, suddenly having materialized on the bridge of the ship next to the giant.
Unsurprised by the feline’s sudden appearance, Bermuda unhurriedly brought the binoculars down, still peering at the waves in the distance. “Insanity is a relative term. Do tell me, how is craziness measured?”
“Usually it’s when one has a disconnect from reality,” the lynx offered, sniffing the ocean air.
“Right, and since we both live in a world where we have realities of our choosing, who is to say we are connected to the right reality? Therefore, depending on the observer, we could be sane or insane.”
Neither the giant or the lynx said anything for a long minute while they listened to the sails flap in the wind.
“May I make a suggestion?” Plato asked.
“That is the reason I asked you here,” Bermuda said sternly.
“I know what you want me to suggest, but this is regarding the ship,” Plato explained.
“What about the ship?”
“It isn’t cloaked,” Plato answered.
Bermuda rolled her eyes. “Of course, it isn’t. How were you going to find me if it were?”
“Excellent point,” Plato stated. “However, now Decar Sinclair can find you as well.”
Bermuda spun around, searching the horizon for another ship.
“You won’t see him,” Plato offered. “He was wise enough to disguise his vessel.”
Bermuda narrowed her eyes, throwing her finger into the air. A moment later the ship was cloaked in fog, making it impossible for it to be seen by others. “I don’t appreciate your implying that I wasn’t wise in hiding my ship.”
“Was that how you took my words, Bermuda?”
“You can call me Mrs. Laurens, or better yet, call me nothing at all, lynx.”
“And yet you were the one who summoned me,” Plato stated.
“Are you going to tell me where the lost city of Atlantis is?” Bermuda asked, her tone full of irritation.
“Why would I know where that is located?” Plato asked innocently.
“Don’t you play games with me, lynx,” Bermuda said vehemently. “You wrote about it.”
“I believe you’re confusing me with the philosopher. It happens all the time.”
“You may be able to fool others, Aristocles, but not me.”
“Oh, well, then I don’t have to tell you that cloaking your ship in fog will make it hard to find with the naked eye, but not for anyone using radar,” Plato said casually just as a blunt force rocked the side of the ship, nearly tossing Bermuda over the side. The lynx stayed firmly in place, as if glued.
Catching herself on the rails, the giant looked over her shoulder, her eyes smoldering. “The evil magician dares to str
ike a blow at my ship?”
“It appears so,” Plato answered as another blast hit the stern of the ship, sending the bow straight into the air before it slammed down again. Water splashed over the sides, flooding the deck. Bermuda was tossed around as if she were a paper doll and not a giant who was over seven feet tall.
“I’ve really had quite enough of that man for one lifetime,” Bermuda said, pressing her fingertips to her temples and closing her eyes.
“Might I suggest…” Plato began, cutting into her focused thoughts.
Through the chaos of water spraying and waves crashing into the rocking boat, Bermuda cracked one eye open. “What? What do you suggest?”
“Well, it’s just that if you are looking for Atlantis, and it is under the surface of this water, you might not want to create a fault line that produces a tsunami, even if it is intended to capsize the enemy’s ship.”
Bermuda deflated, knowing she should have thought of that. Plato was incredibly helpful when he wanted to be, she remembered. Then she recalled that he hardly ever wanted to be, which had been the inherent problem when they were a team.
“Do you have any better ideas?” she screamed through the howling wind.
“Not presently.”
She seethed. There was the Plato she knew. Of course, he knew how to handle Decar Sinclair’s ship, but where would be the fun in telling her that?
Bermuda pointed into the distance, drawing her power from the earth under her feet, several leagues under the sea. To her surprise, a blast of magic pooled in her being. If Atlantis wasn’t below, then it was another mecca full of incredible energy. She used the large reserve of her magic to create a twin illusion of her ship far in the distance. It raced the opposite way toward the Canary Islands as if trying to seek aid after being assaulted multiple times.
Scanning the area where the blast had come from, Bermuda didn’t see her enemy’s ship materialize, but she did spy the tell-tale signs in the currents of the water as a large vessel changed course, charging after the phantom ship she’d created.
“Well, that won’t last for long, but at least it will buy me some time,” Bermuda said, letting out a weighty breath of relief.
She cleared the fog from the front of the ship, again looking for signs of the lost city. It had to be close, she reasoned, but nothing she did seemed to give her any new clues. It burned her up that a magician had found the lost city, or that was her assumption anyway. And they’d used the city no one could find to hide what was probably the most important book in the world—the Forgotten Archives.
“Where are you?” she muttered again to herself.
“You’re doing it again,” Plato observed.
“Talking to one’s self is also a sign of intelligence,” Bermuda offered.
“Intelligence is relative, dear Bermuda. How can it be measured when no one knows what an intelligent mind must consists of?”
“The ability to reason and use logic,” Bermuda answered at once, conviction in her tone.
“Oh, but now you muddy the waters by speaking of ability when we were talking about intelligence.”
“Muddy the water? Really? You’ve been hanging around Liv Beaufont too long if you’re making repugnant puns,” Bermuda said with a scowl. “And I’d argue that intellect involves the ability to deduce and assess and many other things.”
“And yet, my experience states that intelligence is more like a storehouse in a person’s mind, whereas reasoning and deduction are skills.”
Bermuda sighed. “I haven’t missed your games with semantics in the least.”
“You wouldn’t call a reservoir and a dam the same thing, would you?”
“Well, of course not,” Bermuda said with great offense.
“Then it’s not semantics,” Plato said at once. “Intelligence is the reservoir, and reason and deduction are the dam. You can’t fill the lake or keep it balanced without both.”
Bermuda sighed. “Although I’ll admit your experiences on this planet far exceeds mine, right now I think you’re wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter if I am or not, only that I helped loosen the gears in your brain long enough that you take your focus off finding Atlantis.”
“For what reason?” Bermuda asked.
“So you can, in fact, find it.”
“That makes no sense,” she protested.
“I agree, and yet that’s how most things in life work,” Plato offered. “When we search for things, we push them away. When we have lost something, it stays hidden from us. But when we invite in confusion, as I did with my lecture on intellect, we usually find that clarity tags along, slipping through the door before we shut it.”
“You know, all those centuries, and you still make no sense,” Bermuda said dryly.
“Oh, well, it’s too bad that I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’re at all remorseful, lynx.”
“Note that I didn’t apologize. I only stated that it was unfortunate that I can’t illuminate more for you,” Plato said simply. “Maybe you’ll have better luck on your own—as long as your intellect doesn’t steer you wrong.”
The lynx disappeared at once, leaving Bermuda standing alone at the bow of the ship. She was about to curse the feline for offering her zero help, as usual. However, suddenly Plato’s words ran through her mind, with emphasis on certain words: I can’t illuminate more for you. You’ll have better luck on your own. As long as your intellect doesn’t steer you wrong.
Bermuda didn’t know if she was going insane, as Plato probably intended with his riddles, or if she was onto something. She reasoned that she didn’t have anything to lose either way.
Closing her eyes, Bermuda pulled up the anchor with a flick of her finger. Then she rotated the ship’s wheel three-quarters of a turn to the right, two full rotations to the left, and just a smidge to the right. The directions weren’t anything she’d read about or reasoned, but rather just random guesses. She opened her eyes and strode like a robot straight to the bow of the ship. As luck, or rather the farthest thing from logic, would have it, in front of the ship was a small patch of water that was strangely illuminated.
Bermuda shook her head, cursing the lynx and silently praising him. Whether he intended to help, she’d never know. He worked mysteriously like that.
Holding her hand over the side of the ship, she muttered an incantation. The water around the boat began to tremble. The sky turned gray. Lightning struck in the sky, followed by thunder. And then, from under the water, a small object exploded, landing on the deck of the ship.
Bermuda let out a long sigh. She could hardly believe it. She’d found the book—the Forgotten Archives. The one that captured the real history of mortals and magicians. The one that held the reality of what happened with the Great War.
This was what they needed to free mortals from the curse. Once this book was activated, everyone would know what had happened. But first, they needed to be able to see magic again.
Chapter Two
The corridor at the front of the House of Seven appeared longer today. Liv Beaufont was absolutely certain it was lengthier than usual. It was a common trick the House pulled for no apparent reason.
On some days, the rooms were larger or smaller, or furniture was missing or rearranged. When Liv was a child, it had been exciting, never knowing what a room would look like when she entered it. Presently, though, it always made her pause. The House never did anything without reason. When Sophia’s dragon’s egg had been inside the House of Seven, the entry door had increased in size, which had been impressive since it was already the width and height of a small house.
If the House’s entrance hall was longer, it meant something. What, Liv didn’t know.
She ran her fingers over the ancient symbols adoring the gold walls, enjoying the way they sparked and danced, making a circular pattern.
“That’s new,” Liv said, noticing that the symbols were acting differently than usual. T
hey always lit up for her and vibrated, as if the language were activated by her touch. However, she’d never seen the symbols spiral like they were doing, creating a funhouse effect on the wall. “I wonder what this could mean?”
“You’re talking to yourself,” Plato observed, appearing beside her.
She shook her head. “No, I’m talking to you.”
“I wasn’t here a few seconds ago when you made your first remark,” Plato explained.
“About the pattern with the symbols being new?” Liv asked.
He nodded.
“Well, then how do you know what I said?” Liv challenged.
“Touché.”
“Seriously, do you know why the language of the Founders is spiraling like this when I touch it today?” Liv asked.
Plato tilted his head to the side as if seeing the pattern from a different angle would help. “Have you had a lot of salt today?”
Liv huffed, dropping her hand from the wall as she turned to face the lynx. “What does that have to do with this?”
“It doesn’t. I just noticed that your fingers look a little swollen.”
Liv rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. And no, I haven’t had too much salt.”