Carol wrote:Well all, after numerous delays and set asides I'm finally back at writing my fiction book. The human looking alien book will have to wait until I get back to Hawaii as my research books are there. But this one is for fun and includes all paranormal under the sun, time travel, Planet X and every fun idea I've ever run across on some wacky forum.
Here is a draft of the prolog. Some rewriting will need to be done and my 14 year old daughter (who really is a brilliant writer) will be doing editing. This should be a hoot.
Book ~ the dream
The dream began the way it always did.
Sitting astride his mount a cool lavender grey mist swirls about him. He urges his well-trained roan onward up through the damp woodland along the treacherous winding rocky path. With each hoof-step he hears rocks and some of the smaller pebbles roll and tumble, rolling over and over gently down behind him. He is wearing a white, dirt-stained tunic over dark leggings that stretched down to his knees. Emblazoned on the front of his surcoat is a plain blood-red splayed, eight-pointed cross of the Merovingian kings of France, a symbol of martyrdom. About his waist a mock medieval belt is girded with a sword. Upon his head a helmet. Underneath his helmet, damp with sweat, is shoulder length wavy black hair. Due to exertion he feels trickles of sweat run along his spine in tiny rivulets down into the small of his back. Hearing his horses’ labored breathing and upon each exhalation he also saw small puffs of steam blowing out from the nostrils. The scents surrounding him were mixed and consisted of a combination of his own musky sour body odor, his horses sweat ~ along with the scent of the oak forest floor’s soft, crumbly, moldy decaying leaves that were underneath the climbing hooves. Tensing his well-formed muscular thighs he gives his heels a kick into the heaving ribs and uses his spurs to urge his horse up and over a rotted log that had fallen onto their path. His mount, dark as a moonless night itself, was next to invisible making him look more like some ghostly specter, bobbing up and down, wafting along haphazardly through the deep dark forest. His ongoing internal experience of a powerful inner force draws him onward and upwards. With little light to see properly his upward trek is mostly by instinct. His soul is protected by the armour-of-faith and his body protected by the armour-of-steel. Doubly-armed, he fears neither demons nor men. His is of a monastic Order and had been specially selected for this unique, very important, yet also treacherous mission. This is a sacred, spiritual quest. He is both honored and humbled. A cold easterly breeze rushes across his exposed face lifting the small bristles of his dark beard. In the crook of his left arm, hidden behind his shield is a small delicate glowing bundle wrapped in swaddling white linen cloth. He must deliver this treasure before the full moon rises from behind the high rocky peak and before the dark oppressive clouds clear to reveal a starry sky currently hidden and obscured. He must realize his goal. He must reach the summit. He must. Failure is not an option. Out of the corner of his left eye he catches movement. Others? The small hairs on the nape of his neck bristle and lift up. Friend or foe? Did they spot him? Even at his own peril he must continue and urges his mount to quickly move forward. Menace or not he refuses to waver from his mission. He has sworn to keep the secrets of his Order and to 'faithfully defend and maintain the holy Christian faith ~ under no less penalty than loss of life, by having his head struck off and placed on the point of a pinnacle or spire, his skull sawn asunder, and his brains exposed to the scorching rays of the sun, as a warning to all infidels and traitors.'
In a flashback of his initiation he recalls being given a skull and a taper and told to walk slowly round the room again, seven times, keeping his eyes fixed on those 'two emblems of life and mortality' and swear, 'May the spirit which once inhabited this skull rise up and testify against me, if ever I willfully violate my obligation of a Knight Templar'. To complete the oath he is told he must 'Seal it with his lips seven times on the skull.' The Grand Password is 'Maher-shalal-hash-baz' (Isaiah 8:1) The Grand word is 'Jesus Emmanuel'. The sign is an imitation of Jesus hanging on the cross, with the arms outstretched, the feet crossed, and the head bent to one side. He, but a mere mortal, could do no less then Christ. If asked, he would willingly give his life. Yet this sacred treasure he carries must reach its destination. He must protect it and get it safely to the small clearing at the highest point of the summit. There the answers await him. Then he will see with his own eyes, and know for himself, the truth. In Latin, he quietly mutters to himself “Veritas, veritas, veritas.” His destiny lies with Veritas.
Carol, this really pulled me in. I would love to see a picture of the eight point Merovingian cross. Maybe on the cover of the book, hmmm? as a trigger? Please send more of this dream, and how does the story go on from there? Love it. Linda
