BOOK EXCERPT

 

 

A Monumental Journey

 

In the early 1470’s fifteen ninety-five foot wooden longboats departed the northern Scottish mainland, a small island in the Pentland Firth, and many of the Southern Orkney Islands to find new lands to raise their families in. The journey was sanctioned by the beloved King Agar and the craftsman/metallurgist Gamelin. The departing clans were desirous of being detached from the rampaging Baaldurian’s. These were a wicked Viking tribe separated from the original Northern Nation by their choice to follow the bloody antediluvian witchcrafts instead of the Risen Christ. Now . . . five hundred and forty-two years later, another voyage is about to begin. Dr. Gabriel Proudmore and the crew of the computerized schooner Heimdall will be departing Aberdeen Scotland on an adventure of profound scope and danger. Their mission: to retrace the first Viking voyage, no matter where it takes them, or what they may encounter, on a quest to find the only remaining clan of Rognvald Vikings and present them with the greatest symbol of Viking faith ever made, the Tempest sword.

 


 

A Monumental Journey 2 – In Search of the First Tribe

 

The speedboat was one of the great muscle boats with the engine under a wooden shroud towards the rear gunwale. It was a beautifully sleek vessel with an open bow, seats all around, and sunken cabins in the middle. It appeared to be constructed of some kind of dark wood, and we could feel the engines low throated rumbling in our bones as it approached. There was only one man aboard, visible from our present position. He was perhaps late twenty’s, Scandinavian in appearance, suntanned, smooth shaven, with very long windblown brown hair. He was at least 6’4”, and had a powerful musculature very similar to John and Garrett’s.


As soon as he’d brought the rumbling boat to a halt, seventy-five yards from our anchorage, he heaved out his bow anchor. Walking back to the stern, he effortlessly hoisted a hinged diving platform over the rear gunwale, and locked it into place. Already in swimming trunks, he pulled off his short sleeved shirt, put on a single diving tank and mask, grabbed two fins, and stepped out onto the diving platform. Reaching back over the gunwale he grabbed something long and wooden, resembling a narrow curving megaphone, perhaps four feet in length. Kneeling down on the diving platform, he put most of the peculiar object into the water and after taking several deep breathes, began blowing bursts every two seconds. A hollow resonance radiated up from underneath the water, and the peculiar sound reminded me of the bellowing of a distant elephant. Within minutes, an enormous Pacific manta ray quietly surfaced next to the platform, and the man began stroking the top of it. After putting the horn back inside the boat, he jumped into the water, adjusted his face mask, put in his mouthpiece, situated himself on the back of the motionless creature, and then quietly they disappeared underwater.
Five minutes later, still clinging to the back of the manta, he resurfaced in close proximity to the Heimdall. Circumspectly we watched as he slid off the creature and swam up against the schooners hull; without any compunction he began hitting it forcefully with one of his fists.

 


 

A Monumental Journey 3 – The Underground River

 

“GET OUT YOUR WEAPONS!” Rorek shouted as we concealed ourselves. “Helga, did you bring along the CSAT modules?”
Helga shook her head no.


“Did anyone?” Rorek looked around anxiously.


Everyone shook their heads no. This was unfortunate! We would be visible without the CSAT modules, and we couldn’t communicate with one another in the roar of the river, we had limited weaponry, and now, Rolf was having a gas problem that was making me gag.Life had taken a sudden turn for the worse and as always, I felt unprepared and weakened in the change.


A short time later fifteen men began trudging by us. There was no doubt in any of us now; the Mortiken were here and each was in possession of a bright lantern, an AK-47, a sword or knife, and all had an oppressive and foul feel about them. I estimated the wooden fishing vessel being forty feet in length and on the prow; a menacing canon loomed on the edge of readiness. The vessel’s spotlight methodically scanned the river and all the surrounding areas. Slowly it swept back and forth in search of something to condemn. Aboard the vessel twenty men were milling in amongst dozens of boxes lashed to the deck, all were marked with two peculiar symbols. Rolf was tugging restlessly against the restraint of his leash now and had begun growling. In my peripheral I saw Anders and Garrett waving frantically. When I turned and made eye contact, both were pointing towards the river and gesturing that someone was approaching my position. My heart began pounding erratically. While Garrett, John, Jonah, and Anders unsheathed their knives, I saw Captain Olaf, Helga, and Rorek rapidly load their weapons with full clips. Choking back an emotion I began praying.

 


 

A Monumental Journey 4 – Beyond Understanding

 

Taken to the edges of their endurance, the crew continues their explorations of a subterranean world filled with challenges and breathtaking wonders. Following the defeat of Thurid’s warriors they free the Grettig family from captivity and then all embark, together, on a vast underground sea filled with incredible creatures. As the crew searches out the Viking metropolis, Torfar-Kolla, and some hike through the grueling Eastern Mountains, they learn firsthand just how dangerous and mysterious this Realm of Ancients really is.  

 


 

Between the Cracks - An Adventure/Thriller

 

CHAPTER 17


Inconsolable the man shuffled down the gangplank and out of their lives. Around him the bustle of passerby’s seemed almost ghostlike as he made his way off the dock and onto the frontage road. Some turned to gawk. Some whispered to their companions. Some pointed and smirked. Some had arrogant expressions rise up in their features. But he didn’t care. He stood out apart from all those here. He was different. His appearance, dress, and mannerisms were not like theirs and, given this, he would remain just as cold to them as they were to him. He was a solitary man, alone in a sea of vague semblances and arrogant self-centeredness. In the past, on his dozen (or so) visits to SoCal, the culture and people had felt superficial to him. So many of these people were an affront to his rigorous self-disciplines; cheeky superficial characters caught up in scatterbrained pursuits. It seemed now that everything was a distraction to the peace he sought. His heart ached for his home in Morocco. He yearned to eat his savory fare, to hear his traditional music, to embrace his children’s laughter, and to delight in his beloved wife. Despondently he trudged on towards Lindbergh Field. It was taking every ounce of energy to stay focused on what must be done. Nothing could interfere with his efforts. Being reunited with his family was foremost in his heart and mind now. Behind him was an old life, ahead of him was...