Hi everyone!

For my most current blogs and compositions, access the “hamburger” in the top right corner of the page. This site defaults to my first blog.

Welcome to my first blog entry. I’ll try to update this weekly or bi-weekly, depending on my availability to do so. The content will vary with each entry, but to kick things off, I thought we’d have a bit of fun and start with a piece from a novella I wrote in a fortnight’s time. I did this on a whim to test myself a bit, and I’ve been relatively happy with the result. Enjoy!

The tale I am about to tell you, I know not the whole picture. I utter words like a whisper on the wind, the events of which they speak of. For the truth of the matter, I fear, is far more complex than our world is designed to understand. But I bring to you a fragment from a time far forgotten…in the days of our Gods and their magic. For the impact it had on one individual paying the ultimate price, the gamble was the way to prosperity for our people. But if these whispers on the wind speak the truth…the roll of the six-sides proved unlucky. Now, it falls upon me to right the wrongs.

Nadir is High Shaman of my people. Nestled along the stretch of a straight connecting two larger expanses of lands, our region is isolated by mountains. Growing crops and being one with our land has been the way of my people since the very beginning. Our lands are blessed with fertility…as long as the Gods remain pleased. However, everything changed one day….

A visitor from an unknown land appeared, offering new tools and devices which were foreign and strange to me and my people. Wielding weapons the likes of which we’d never seen before, he wanted safe passage through our lands to the sea on the other side…where nobody had ever returned from. Being warned of the danger the uncharted sea wrought deterred his ambitions none, so I guided him along to the edge of the sea where the rocks and shoals were treacherous. To my surprise, a boat was awaiting him, its design nothing like I’ve ever seen before. Not long and narrow, resistant to the strong river currents, it had a deep and wide basin to it.

A boat of our design was ashore, waiting for me to take him out to this strange craft sitting just beyond the dangerous waters to the open ocean. Getting aboard, it took every amount of my expertise to safely navigate him to this ship. A crew greeted him, called him “Captain Zebulon”, and before he disembarked, he thanked me and handed me something.

A jewel of some sort.

Once he got aboard, the ship immediately began heading into the unknown. Knowing not what this captain’s fate would be, my only option was to head back. Braving the high winds blowing from the south, I was fortunate to have made an offering to the God of the sea, Aquanos, before departing my home city, our capital, Pangaia. Having done so, I had protection from rogue waves that could drown me in an instant out on this treacherous sea. Had I known I’d be venturing with a companion out here, I’d have made an offering for his protection as well. He’d need it.

Before this mission was tasked to me by my father, I was instructed to chart these waters. I was next in line to do so. Many strong, brave and renowned warriors among my people had been chosen to be the next great explorer and brave the great beyond. None have returned, generation after generation. Troubled by this, my father tasked me with the impossible. It may have been punishment…for I took a wife before I was allowed to; before it was deemed appropriate for an heir to choose their wife. She was to be blessed by the Goddess of fertility, bathed in the mountain lake and sworn before the light of the sun, purified, before she was worthy to be royalty. To me, none of that mattered. I loved her.

In response, my father stripped me of my right to the throne, giving sole right of inheritance to my twin brother. Nadir. Still, at the time, I did not regret my decision, even if my father was let down. Constantly coming down on me was tiring, but I still believe to this day that I acted honorably, and in accordance to our Gods on high.

Making it back to shore safely, I held onto this strange rune stone. Holding it aloft for the sun to catch it, this ominous, pale green color to it, the sun shone through it and cast its light upon my face. As I had done so, the stone itself began to dissipate from my grasp. Feeling this strange tingling sensation overcome me, I saw the image of my hand still formed as if holding this mysterious rune, now nothing within its confines. Confused by this, I intended to take a quick trek back to Pangaia and ask the elders, my tutors growing up, if they knew what this was. It made me recall the teachings from my tutor growing up, a wise man, who had more knowledge of anyone not gifted with the direct wisdom from our Gods. However, for his intelligence, he was cast away from Pangaia into exile, never to be seen again. An omen like this was unfamiliar to me. If it was known to my people, it had to be an ancient secret, and perhaps only my former tutor might know…

When I returned, Pangaia was unchanged. Tents surrounded the main street into the temple where my father ruled from, rising above the rest, first to greet the sun each morning. It was within this stone temple, ancient in its design from generations ago from which my ancestors ruled from also, where I would find the answers I sought. The men of our people were out gathering food. We hunted, fished, gathered berries, honey, nuts, whatever we could find to eat. We used everything from our prey, for it is honorable to our Gods and to our prey that they die with purpose. All things have purpose for being. Life is sacred.

Upon seeing my father inside this temple, sitting upon this golden throne which I was no longer fated to do, a cross expression filled his face at the sight of his dishonorable son. Nadir looked at me quizzically at the tale I told them next of Captain Zebulon and this mysterious green gemstone. Not believing me, I had no physical proof to offer them of what had transpired.

Father was furious.

Ordering me to report to the witch doctors where they would peer into my memories, an invasive and rather painful procedure, he would determine whether what I was saying was the truth or not. If I was found to be guilty of lying, my fate was exile. I would never again see my wife, the woman worth dishonoring myself for to have as my own. Our children would never be born. We’d only been together a few months. If I was proven truthful, perhaps father would reconsider his stance with me.

Fate was not in my hands, but in the hands of these witch doctors. Placing their hands briefly over open flames to purify their touch before laying hands on royalty, even disenfranchised, they took small blades and made tiny cuts to my temples. Collecting the blood as I screamed out in pain, they then placed their knives over the same flames they cleansed their hands with, heating the blades, and seared shut my wounds. Blood from the temples contains thoughts. And without thoughts, we are nothing.

The bowl with my blood collected was then enchanted by a spell of theirs, and brought immediately to my father. High Shaman of my people, my father, Solei, was bestowed a gift from the Gods. He had mysterious powers that only those who sat on that golden throne were aware of. As I lay there on the ceremonial table where these witch doctors performed their duties, recovering from my blood loss, my father was presented with the contents of that bowl: the blood containing my memories of the events I spoke of.

Drinking its contents would reveal to father that I spoke the truth. He would see for himself the images from my memories, he would see what was in my heart, and decide I was worthy to share the throne with my brother when it was our time.

Twins were an ill-omen among my people. My mother died giving birth to us, apparently we both came out at exactly the same time, and mother died from exhaustion. Father never spoke of her, I learned of this from my tutors. Twins were treacherous, evil creatures. Like a two-headed snake. One would be of pure light, holding to truth and being a beacon of righteousness. The other would be twisted beyond all good, hiding in the paling of light cast by the good entity, plotting behind the scenes with malcontent.

We were named with contrast in mind. Where he was Nadir, the one connected to the ground, connected to the people, I was named Zenith. I was to be connected to the Gods. I was destined to be the one bestowed with our Gods’ blessings. I often think if father had the opportunity to rename us, he’d name me Nadir for certain. I was the lowest…

Hearing my name called out, I struggled to my feet and was helped to the throne room by a witch doctor who had remained behind. Staggering now back to the throne room inside this temple, my father had a look on his face I didn’t expect. I could tell he believed me now, but his face showed more trouble than I’d ever seen. Nadir didn’t have words for what he saw on father’s face, either.

Father could only make this expression of shock, but the words uttered sent those knives I just felt on my temples up the entire length of my spine.

“I can no longer feel the Gods’ powers.”

Not knowing whether father believed me or not, it didn’t seem important anymore. Without the Gods’ blessings, our crops would wither and die. We wouldn’t produce children. We wouldn’t catch fish. Disease would run rampant, natural disaster would strike…and enemies would find us.

Immediately, I was ushered out the door. Witch doctors now tended to my father, while Nadir emerged.

“It won’t be long now, brother. Father will forgive you, and you’ll come back home. But the power of the Gods will be mine, not yours. It must be that way, now. You agree of course, right?”

Nadir would never admit it, but he was jealous. I was always the one destined to attain the Gods’ blessings. I was named for such purpose. We would share the throne, all of the power and authority, but I would have the powers from the Gods’ themselves. Nadir would directly lead our people. His place was at the seat of our people, to lead them on the divine path; the path that would flow directly through me.

Not knowing what would happen next, I got back to my feet. The next thing I knew, a witch doctor ushered us back inside the temple, where my father was back on the throne. Bleeding from his mouth, coming from within his body, he struggled to speak, but it was audibly clear…everyone heard it.

“You poisoned me…!”

Leaving me reeling, my father’s head slumped down, as if dead, and guards came rushing over to me. Panic overtook me, I ran, the guards still being uncertain whether or not to actually touch me or not to apprehend me, it worked to my advantage. I ran past them, hurried within the village, took my wife by the hand, and took off into the woods.

Avoiding the detection of hunters nearby, we made our way to the opposite coast, the more-tame waters awaited us. Laying low to the coastline, I worked at fashioning a boat for us, while I fished in the meantime. My wife worked hard at fashioning some rope out of hemp for us to tie bundles of wood together. She also managed to grab a pot with some water in it during our escape. After a few days of evading the pursuing guards, we were ready to make our escape, and headed north for an island in the sea. Descendants of our people were gathered there still, and they’d take us in.

Years had now passed from that fateful time. Despite much effort on our part, my wife and I have failed to produce a child. Not only us…nobody in our village has given life to a newborn. The crop yields are dwindling, even the fish stopped biting. Something happened that day father died. All of the blessings from our Gods ceased. And I was to blame, somehow.

What happened next, I never could have foretold. On the wind, the rumors brought word of a High Shaman, one whose rule brought fear to my people, drastic measures which were taken to regain the powers of the Gods. An ancient ritual carried out by the witch doctors generations ago was being talked about: one which was aimed at attaining more power from the Gods. The ritual involved removing a piece of the front of the skull, and allowing the Gods less resistance to our brains. The act of doing so would bestow more powers to the one undergoing this ritual…however at a great cost.

Nobody had remained sane after doing so.

It all made sense, now. Nadir had always had his eyes set upon the powers of the Gods…and now he had not only legitimate reason for attaining it, but the means to become saturated with more powers than even father was blessed with. Living on the outskirts of our village, on occasion, soldiers from my former people would emerge, searching for me. No longer considered royalty, I was charged with the assassination of High Shaman Solei, and to be brought before High Shaman Nadir for execution.

Escaping their clutches, occasionally having to defend myself, I worked tirelessly on fighting with my spear and strengthening myself. I had to be able to defend myself.

One day, our village came under attack by assailants the likes I’ve never seen before. These pale-skinned people reminding me of the complexion of Captain Zebulon, armored with shining metal plates and armed with blades which they could strike at people so quickly, like bolts of lightning from the sky, came riding on horseback, killing everyone in sight. At first, I thought these soldiers were sent by my brother, but hearing them speak so strangely and behave so differently, I knew they couldn’t be. It took every effort for my wife and I to flee back to the mainland.

When we returned, a man lay dying on the beach from Pangaia, apparently trying to flee perhaps to the same island we had escaped to. He recognized me immediately, his eyes lit up surprisingly at my image coming to him, and he spoke to me with desperation in his voice.

“Save us, Zenith…his highness will kill us all…!”

“What has happened?”

“He attained the powers of the Gods…but he’ll kill us all.”

Not knowing what he meant, he must have sensed my confusion.

“He sacrificed all of the witch doctors, and he’s declaring that we all aren’t worthy to be amongst the Gods…he’s lost-“

The man suddenly gasped loudly, clutching a wound near his chest that appeared to be from a spear, and died.

Not knowing what lie before me, I knew the task ahead. I needed to stop my brother, by any means necessary.

-“One With the Gods” excerpt, Chpt. 1

Blog posts are found along the sidebar, from the top right drop-down menu.

For book sales, refer to my Facebook page, or find them available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other sources for physical copies. For e-book copies, they are available at Amazon, iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashword, and several other outlets.