Kindle Edition
Amazon
Amazon
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Create Space
ISBN-10: 1517463289
Type: Fiction
Pages: 354
ISBN-13: 9781517463281
Price: $7.00 (eBook)
A great storm, a giant eddy amid that storm, a savage raid, a ruthless king, an escape-proof dungeon, challenges, visions, daring, intrigue, faith, determination, an island that is home to the usual and the unusual—all on the island of Atlantis, and all part of epic adventure story. Now, take the first step, and order a copy—paperback or Kindle.
This is the start of a six-book tale of adventure and war--the age-old formula for an epic--and as the summary says, this one is set on the island that will become Atlantis. Yet, it is not an ancient version of ancient Greece. Instead, a fairly involved, more modern society that is divided into three realms has arisen, while this lengthy tale tells how the three realms became one under the legendary name.
It starts with the abduction of the first princess of one of the realms by the king of one of the others. Then Jim Connors is "brought" to the island, he helps the princess escape, and they become the Travellers.
Looming over all is a prophecy called "The Legend", while one of its predictions is that if the wrong result is realized, then the island will perish within a year.
Excerpt
From Chapter I:
THE GULL AND the storm were the first signs of what was to come. They were the peculiar beginning that led Jim into the great adventure of his life, the singular episode on which all the others, and more, were built. They were the first grabbing ripples from the huge swirling stem; the first clues that his old life, his prior existence, was over. The white bird and the black tempest were the dire omens of what was to come, signposts pointing the way to Jim's proposed meeting with King Jochanan's executioner.
Otherwise, it had all begun innocently enough. Jim had borrowed his sister's old boat, the deep-hulled dinghy that had a modest sail to augment its pair of oars, and so, he went to fish and to think about what he wanted to do with his life. He was no longer under orders to march for his country, and like Helen, he was now an orphan, living well away from Chicago, where both had been born, and where the fatal strokes had been applied to their three loved ones. Marriage had brought her there, while their uncle's imminent move to California meant that only Helen and Rob's place kept Jim from being homeless. He was a bum, indeed!
Then the seabird had come along, interrupting Jim's thoughtfulness. In fact, it seemed that he had done little more than drop his line in the water when the gull swooped down, and with a contentious, complaining squawk, plucked the rod from the lad's hands. Then, to make sure Jim understood the gull's edict—no fishing—the seabird dropped the pole well beyond his reach. Yet, before Jim could give any real thought to going after his pole, thunder boomed behind him, and he looked to see the looming, growing threat advancing out of the west—not unlike a towering grizzly in attack mode. It was more ominous than any storm he had ever seen. Lightning raged anew and was followed by a still closer roar of thunder.
With a powerful swiftness, as if driven by more than wind, the fury came upon him. After only a few minutes, the black cloud mass had consumed the boat and Jim, along with much of the daylight. Only the bird was allowed to escape, but then, the gull did not belong in that fateful embrace, nor was it wanted! The bird was also in its place.
So, with that same terrible suddenness, Nature's trumpets thundered in the iron-gray sky. Again and again they sounded, singing the tale of each lightning flash—the hammer of Heaven beating on the anvil of Earth. Soon, the crescendo of the on-rushing waves filled the great expanse with a rising and falling timpani-like roll that was accompanied by the hiss and drum of foaming waves rhythmically crashing against the old boat's hull. Adding to that eerie symphony, the sail twanged its lines and rattled its canvas, while the rain pattered on the wood and canvas in varying tempos. Most would never appreciate such music, but Jim really did not mind it. It went with the awful majesty of a storm at sea. What a foretoken it was!
That he was already drenched from the rain and spray made it still more ironic to reflect that only a short while before he had been trying to peacefully fish off the coast of South Carolina. He had just been taking it easy while thinking things over until dinner, and then it would have been time to watch the ball game with Helen and Rob Johnson, his sister and brother-in-law. The Cubs were at Atlanta, he recalled, while they got the Braves' games. Then, maybe later, they would get on the horn and talk to Spencer Connors, their California-bound uncle, and then they would find out how things were in the Windy City. Otherwise, Helen and Rob were Atlanta Braves fans, except when the Chicago Cubs were the other team, as they would be that night in July 1972, while all three could remember when the Braves still played in Milwaukee, which made them arch rivals.
Now, though, ending that contemplation and more, the great black storm, on powerful raptor-like wings, had swept over Jim, bringing strong winds that made it impossible for him to turn the boat toward shore. Now, the concern was no longer grounded in getting back to Helen and Rob. Now, it had become what should be every person's prime directive—survival. Toward that end, Jim, just then, could see doing no more than riding out the storm, while also clinging to the resolve that he ultimately would walk away from the boat.
Yet, there had never really been an opportunity for him to turn back. Sometimes, you are not allowed to turn aside from the path that leads to your destiny. Fate, Nature's Will, can be pretty tenacious when She has something in mind for you. Not knowing that, Jim still figured it was best to let the storm take him where it would, and to put his trust in the Maker, while the dark-haired youth employed his strength and his reason to keep his life. Reason told him to maintain a good hold on the line and tiller, while his strength firmed up that grip of both, and then his heart, the third part, steadily believed that all would be well; believed that he had found the best solution for overcoming the current dilemma. So it was that Jim and the old boat rode out to sea: always sailing farther east, always meeting greater waves, always finding stronger winds—roll on, forever-on!
All too soon, or so, it seemed, the deep-hulled boat rushed down the back of the first house-size wave. Salt spray broke over the bow and stung the young man's face before they swung up toward the crest of the next one. That he and the boat climbed and fell at an acute angle made the ride all the more maddening, and so, he further tightened his hold of the cord and rudder, sensing that it would be fatal to let go of either. For Jim, that was his role in battling the storm. It was the best he could do to try and maintain control of the situation. The strongest card he could play.
Before long, they had climbed and fallen from at least a dozen such waves, and each time, just when it seemed the steep angle would make the boat flip on its back, the craft would dip down to the horizontal, hang at the crest for a moment, and then plummet down the backside. For most people, no roller coaster ride could be more terrifying. Perhaps, that was so for the simplest of reasons; this ride could end, not by simply walking away, but because Death had claimed another chip! Jim guessed that, like a vulture, the black-cloaked rider on the pale green horse, hovered nearby, ready to swoop in at the last moment.
Yet, again, Jim was not like most. During that ride, he never experienced a moment of terror. That was because he had something powerful to fall back on. That is, his faith—the third part—kept him thinking that he would indeed simply walk away from that boat ride, and that he would go on, his life bettered by the experience. It may be that, as a result, he had no fear of death, or was that great quality something that had long been present in the lad? Even what happened next did not really shake that faith, or perhaps, all that occurred somehow strengthened it, made him even more immune to the sharp concern that so often troubles others.
It began as the boat hung on the crest of the twelfth great wave. Jim's eyes widened with just an inkling of concern as he focused on the next breaker. Already it was curling into an angry white fist, primed to smash anything wooden…or anything made of meager flesh! Still, he hung onto line and rudder with a firmer grasp and let it come to him—let it play its cards. Wham—the broiling curl hit as one three fell. Crack—went something wooden and near at hand, spilling another trey. Hiss—they knifed through the wall of water and came out on its far side, mildly inundated, but unharmed, as a third three landed face up on the table. Was the fourth three one of the two down-cards, would it show as the next up card, or be dealt facedown as the last card? Did his opponent grimace, because he would be obliged to start the betting and thus be unable to make a raise, or because he still did not have the fourth three?
Yet, Jim still felt that he had the better hand. He had survived that hit. The Maker had answered. The lad's faith was boosted. He had done the right thing by not giving up. He would make a raise to show that there was more to the two aces he had showing, that the third bullet was in the hole, and he would call when his foe raised his raise.
Then, as they finished riding over the next wave, he saw the eddy. Was it the killer three? It looked large enough to swallow a 300-foot freighter, booms and all. Already, the old boat was caught in its whirling pull, slowly circling towards its vast, deep, tunnel-like stem. Greedily, Death was stretching His open hand toward Jim; ominous and dark like the storm itself, reaching, and ready to grasp, ready to claim the pot. Yet, even then, the youth refused to give up. Death's grin faltered. Even then, he failed to see his stormy cruise ending in that vortex; failed to see the funnel as the trey that beat his three aces; failed to concede. He was not dead yet. He had yet to fold. Death's smile began to falter still more. The dealer prepared to deal the sixth round.
Otherwise, it was with that leap of faith that Jim felt something indescribable close around him. It was a presence that draped over him bringing peace and calm to him, despite the raging tempest without. It was an emanation of Eternal joy, brushing across his person like fine silk. Then the winding motion carried the boat against the raging zephyr.
Suddenly, there was a yawning snap. Jim glanced up. The mast and sail were rapidly dropping toward him, rushing toward his pate. Transferring the line to the same hand that held the tiller, his other hand jumped up to stave off the mast's attack of his head. Something, a voice, the words of the presence, murmured to Jim that She was ever pleased that he had become such a good problem-solver…and that he was so courageous! Such a combination, along with his steadfast faith, could be used elsewhere.
Will thou accept the challenge? Will thou be a chosen knight—touched by Me? the presence, in a voice filled with serenity, silently asked.
"Take me where you will," he answered, accepting the inherent risk, the ready challenge of the unknown.
With that, as if in answer to his reply, and with the suddenness of lightning and from beyond the falling canvas, there came a lightning-like glow—brilliant and blinding—that seemed to emerge out of nowhere—out of nowhere—as it engulfed the boat and Jim. Like that, he and the boat were taken. Like that, the more incredible part of his adventurous journey began. Like that, his life was forever changed; his old life washed away, engulfed by the eddy; gone.
And then, the darkness came.
From Chapter II:
YET, HER PARENTS, particularly her often-adamant mother, had said that the title of mountaineer was not fit for one born a Princess, especially the Pink Swan of Nolan, never mind what Josh and others, to include the King, believed about the Girl-Child of the Legend, and so, it was not to be permitted. That was so, even though King Hermes's edict on that theme had deeply hurt Josh. Still, he remained a dear friend of Aurora's father, while the mountain man also refused to question his sovereign. It was not the role of a Knight of Nature to defy any monarch until the Divine Mother had given the sign—three great deaths by the same hand—and properly, Josh was even more loyal to Nature. At the same time, while King Hermes officially remained reluctant to let Josh name Aurora, the King continued to quietly encourage the mountain man to keep training the Princess. The latter was really more of a hedge than anything else, or so, it seemed.
"Why, perhaps, that would explain the troop of riders I just saw through a gap in the woods to the south," the Pink Swan observed to Lieutenant Claylon, who hardly reacted to that intelligence. "Perhaps, they are mountaineers bound for the meeting."
"Yes, you are right, that is a good explanation, Your Highness," the Lieutenant mechanically agreed. "Then too, King Jochanan is beginning to make it difficult for any mountaineer to remain in Soglarn."
"Why, that would bode ill for Peter Tonshew, even if he remains unnamed!" she replied with some concern.
"Yes, it would," the Lieutenant succinctly replied with a nod, or was he trying to avoid saying anything that would lead into a lengthy conversation!
Aurora wished the somewhat handsome, young man would be less formal with her, would make a better effort to converse with her, especially since that would make her stay far more pleasant. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Claylon was under strict orders from the Earl to do no more than be courteous. Then, as she looked down on the young officer, Aurora saw instead the image of a husky, darkly bearded, young man in buckskin, confidently grinning and outfitted with a broad-brim hat and worn boots, hands anchored to his sides, and armed with a bow and a broadsword, the latter belted to his middle. The image was, however, too short-lived to let her note much more than the details of the beard on his face, his garb, his posture, and the glow in his eyes. At the same time, it was more than long enough to tell her that he was unknown to her, even if there was something encouraging about that vision, likely his confident grin. Indeed, she was so intrigued that she briefly prayed to Nature that she might meet that young man.
Then the Princess woke from her reverie and observed, "Well, I will turn in now. Nature be with you, Lieutenant Claylon."
"Nature be with you, as well, Princess Aurora," he said with his perfunctory respect.
About the only lad who regarded the Princess the way she preferred was the young adventurer and mountain man, Abram Becklon, who had been the stable boy at the Summer Palace in the old days, when the King and family still spent their Summers there, and who had often been a hunting partner in more recent days. He was not at all bothered that she was a much better archer. If anything, Abram, like many of the others, was bothered that she could not be named a mountaineer, especially if her regal father meant to truly honor the Legend. Aurora would likely see Abram at the meeting the next day. He was what she hoped her husband would be like: adventuresome, understanding, and congenial.
Unfortunately, Abram was a commoner, and the laws of the realm were quite specific; the Pink Swan had to marry someone with a title. It was entirely possible that one of Abram's adventures could earn him a lordship, but even then, Aurora had no desire to force another to share her poor fate. Then the lass sighed and thought of how nice it would be to roam about with mountaineers the next morning, just like she had on so many Summer days of her childhood; well, since she had been four, which was when she had first met Josh. Her current, pale yellow set, gotten from a five-point she had brought down with one arrow, had been seasoned by the experience of many outings, and by the perfume of many campfires, particularly the one in the great central cooking area of Black Bear Clearing. Would it be her last set because an uncaring husband had ended her days as a mountaineer?
In the meantime, the Princess was halfway to the manor when cries of death and the drum of hard-driven hooves made her look back toward the East Gate of the complex. A cloud of riders in maroon capes, Soglarnian Dragoons, was swirling through the entry. Without hesitation, they coldly hacked to death the gate guards and both orphans before riding over all four. Now they were driving right for Aurora. Had her proposed study of the Legend doomed her, as well?
"Run, Princess—run!" Lieutenant Claylon cried, moments before a Dragoon loped off his head.
Aurora cried out at that gruesome sight. The foremost Dragoon, Lieutenant Rodan, drawn by that cry, spied her and rushed toward her. Her whole person frozen out of fear, the Pink Swan made no effort to keep Rodan from scooping her up and throwing her across the shoulders of his horse. Crying his success, laughing at its ease, the company's executive officer wheeled about, and with several of the men from his platoon to escort him, he fled back out the gate.
Still, the echoes of their galloping horses could not drown out the shrieks of children being slain, even defiled, nor could they hide the sneering cries of the hideous, drooling Captain Rotierer: "We have the Princess! Do what you want—what you desire—with the others, and then kill them! Kill ALL of them! Those are King Jochanan's orders! Obey them!"
The Princess's cry of protest against those dreadful edicts fell harmlessly on both the Ears of the Night and those of the raid's commander, the corpulent officer merely grinning at them. Yet, she had focused long enough on the rotund, slovenly leader of Dragoons, long enough to etch his face into her memory; long enough to witness him wantonly run his sword through a young orphan boy. Sadly, she realized how useless her plea was, and her realization was reinforced by the screams of anguish and outrage that drifted to her on the waves of a seemingly endless surge of agony. Indeed, there was only one thing she could do, and that was to pray to Nature to have mercy on the poor children in the hour of their suffering and slaughter.
Yet, as she ended her prayer, Aurora began to sense that her life would never be the same. That wherever she was bound, and that whomever she was to meet, would forever alter her course upon the great sea of existence. She saw too where the Legend and its prophecy truly were of immediate concern to her. That much she knew from the little nuggets Josh, her father, and her brothers had given her, and from reading the preface. Unfortunately, that was just about all she knew, and at first, the prospect of not knowing what lay ahead deeply frightened her. However, it was just then that they reached the point where the West Pass Trail began to swing west, a place she had often passed with Abram and Josh, and as always happened when she was not with them as she went by there, the Princess thought of them, while their grinning images promptly invoked her courage.
With that, her fear was gone, her faith restored, and a resolve firmly established to bravely face whatever lay ahead—even the most violent of deaths!
To see how Jim and the Princess meet, and to learn what comes of that, you need to, of course, acquire "The Travellers, Book I, While Weeping Lasts".
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