Schultz Mind Shadows

Book One: The Sleeper
1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62488-584-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 520 Seiten

Meet Chris, a typical seventeen year old from a single parent family who is drawn into a parallel world where spirits lurk, creatures kill, warriors battle and treachery is a part of everyday life. With a mom who doesn't believe him, a princess who needs him, a seer who is waiting for him and demons that fear him, he must decide if he has the courage and faith to change a world or be content to merely survive. Mind Shadows is a book of two stories, two worlds and one young man set on a collision course, thrusting a new destiny on all involved.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Schultz, David

Leseproben

MIND SHADOWS
Book One: THE SLEEPER
Prologue
*     *     *  Part One  *     *     *
An uncommon chill filled the early fall air. Ethereal fog rose from the warm earth to greet the invading cold. The thick blanket of floating moisture obliterated any view of the stars and all but smothered the full moon. An occasional breeze snaked its way through the night causing the fog to twist and swirl as if some giant specter were sliding through the darkness. Feeble moonbeams cast ghostly shadows while trying to penetrate the constantly shifting mist. "Specter indeed," Arman thought. "There could be a thousand hideous creatures lurking in the darkness and I might never know." The thought reinforced the bite of the night air as a chill shivered its way through his body. Arman pulled up the hood of his heavy cloak as he peered into the night. His eyes strained to penetrate the milky darkness. From his watch position at the top of the tower he could normally see miles in all directions. Now the walled village of Glasbow, a thousand feet to the north and below the small rise on which the tower stood, was invisible, lost behind the ever-changing white wall. Even though he couldn't see the village he knew every door and window was shut and barred or locked. "If some kind of attack was to materialize, the battle tower may prove to be a meager defense with a third of its forces gone," Arman thought, anticipating the worst, "much less the low walls and the barred doors of the village." Dark rumors were abounding and no one seemed to be able to locate their source. But someone must be taking them seriously for word came from the regional commander, via the king's envoy, that a patrol was to be sent out to gain what intelligence they could. Poul, the battle tower commander, was to lead a group south into the forest and then proceed east to the Grasslands. Now the midnight hour was at hand and the patrol was four hours late returning, hence the state of alert for the village of Glasbow. The rumors had been wild and erratic, frenzied stories about hideous creatures, gigantic armies, midnight raids on isolated farms and savage battles between the mysterious attackers and the Aruka warriors of the grasslands. Fear was beginning to hold the southern portion of the kingdom with a deadly grip. The entire border was on alert, watching, even searching for trouble. What seemed to agitate everyone was that all things appeared to be normal, except for the murdered family. A chill shuddered through Arman, jolting him from his latest fog induced trance. What was it Poul had told him as he led the eight man patrol out from the tower? "Be alert Arman, there's something in the air. I can feel it." "There is no fear of falling asleep on watch this night. Whatever is in the air, I can feel it too," thought Arman as he hunched his shoulders forward and wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, seeking an elusive warmth from the now damp material. His large rough hand grasped the hilt of his massive broadsword. The smooth worn handle felt good, a touch of reality in a mystical night. If the patrol wasn't back by morning a rider would have to be dispatched to alert the regional commander at the fortress in Harfend and a search party sent to look for their missing commander and comrades. "Take care my good friend," Arman whispered. "I pray to the gods that you are safe; if not, let the one that has harmed you tremble in fear for his life!"   Prologue
*     *     *  Part Two  *     *     *
Falling against a towering pine, desperate for support, Poul fought back the ragged gasps that had been hammering his lungs for the last hour, pushed beyond the limits of even his endurance. He had been running not only for his life but possibly for the life of the kingdom itself! He must somehow get the warning back. Breathing as shallowly as he could, Poul could taste blood in the back of his throat. Surely in the silence of the blackened forest even the whispers of his muffled breathing must sound like the bellows of Timbor's forge. Even the creatures of the forest knew better than to make an attracting noise on this dark night. The hairs on the back of his neck told him they were near. But where? How could something so huge and hideous slide so silently through the night? Kneeling down he tried to blend into a large thicket, working his way silently through the bows and branches, seeking their shelter from the terrifying eyes of the nightmare that had pursued them, pursued him, relentlessly since the ambush late in the afternoon. An agonizing gasp exploded from his lips. With bone-crushing force he clenched his teeth to keep a scream from tearing the night apart. Nearly blinded by pain Poul pulled the branch from his lacerated and bloody shoulder. Sweat streamed down his face. Carefully he lifted the makeshift bandage and examined the freshly opened wound. Shards of bone had punctured the torn flesh of his shattered shoulder. The branch had torn loose the soft clots from the swollen tissue. Fresh blood again flowed down his chest and ribs, adding to the crusty mass dried by the cool night air. Gently, wincing, he replaced the soggy bandage. It was a risk. If he were discovered in the heart of this thicket he was dead for sure, unable to move and defend himself, if defense were even possible. They'd been cut down like flies being swatted from the air. But he had to hide and rest for just a little while. Poul peered out from his hiding place trying to focus his burning eyes, seeking any motion that might betray his adversary's presence. Gradually the pounding pulse in his ears began to subside and he was able to listen for any alerting noise. The pungent aroma of rotted foliage and wet dirt found his nose. The damp earth under his fingers brought with it a temporary sense of sanity. He could feel the cold moisture seeping through his ragged clothes, a chill shaking his devastated body. The sudden inactivity caused his exhausted muscles to quiver and cramp. Light headed, his thoughts flew back to his slain comrades and their valiant but futile fight. He was shaken from his painful memories by the gentle rustling of branches - branches from the thicket that concealed him! Holding his breath in a vise like grip, he caught a glimpse of a huge leathery, scaled foot. Looking up through the leaves he saw the living nightmare that he'd felt so near. Its huge head, evil, grotesque, savage, swung from side to side, its fluorescent yellow eyes searching the thicket. But the creature's eyes were not the only ones studying the night. Poul felt his body grow numb as the hideous monster's penetrating gaze came closer and closer. Suddenly its head stopped, eyes squinting, dead on the spot where he lay. Leaning over, its eyes locked onto his, hatred ripping through Poul to his soul.   Prologue
*     *     *  Part Three  *     *     *
Masson's eyes burned from long hours of pouring through the Book of Mysteries. The ancient book was worn from centuries of use and pondering. Each page had been delicately turned. As he now gazed out the window of his room, his sanctuary, his eyes wandered through the city, watching it settle in for the evening. A warm light's glow began appearing in the windows. People's evening activities, though short because of early rising for a hard day's labor, were just beginning. The hearths would smell of tasty food and families would be gathered around their tables. Past the city walls his eyes found the horizon, its distant peaks framed by the closer towering pines. The sun was seeking its resting place, as if fleeing the darkness racing towards it. Brilliant scarlet, violet and pink filled the twilight sky. Could this almost pristine peacefulness be near its end? There was an edge to be felt in the tranquility of this place. The apparent serenity that seemed to permeate the entire land was but a mask, lying between the Shadows. The Shadows were rolled, folded and layered. From the layers came a protrusion, the Philosophy of Mysteries. The Ancients had given the Book of Mysteries as the pattern for society, that it might be wed with all nature; that man would take to his heart the earth as he would take to his loins a lover. For this to be understood one must grasp the Shadows, the heart of the Philosophy of Mysteries. Long had the Shadows been in place, twilight and dawn laced between them. From one of the folds of Shadow arose a smoky cloud, almost imperceptible when first appearing. So subtle it was that no one in the land had noticed, not even the Watchers. As it grew in mass and turbulence, subtlety was no longer a possibility. It grew and matured into illusion. A confounding illusion it was, too. Most of the Watchers saw in it the promise, the fulfillment of the Mysteries. At first its cool, delicate caress had lulled his sensitivity into a delirious euphoria. But his mind was troubled. It had begun as a grain of sand in his soft boot, practically un-noticeable at first, a nagging question. In the chronicles of the Book of Mysteries was a passage relating to little else, as if inserted without reason or relationship to the text before or after. "A messenger from afar will come but a short distance to this place and bring Light that will pierce the Darkness with a...