Fiction

Money Slay

Author

Mark N. Penn

Author Bio

Mark N. Penn is an author of fiction who refers to himself as a writer instead of the pretentious term of the author. He grew up as an American military brat mostly in what is now known as Germany. He resides in the United States of America and has attended many colleges earning a degree also studying at university.

Mark N. Penn has worked in numerous industries for a multitude of companies with all walks of life. He has written journalistically for many print and online publications all the while, never getting the byline. Mark N. Penn is okay with because he feels it is the final product that is important not the artist. He has extensive experience as a copywriter.

Mark N. Penn spends as much time in the outdoors, exercising and traveling as he can because that is where he feels at home, exploring various adventures on the move. He had pets. Mark N. Penn was married with children and divorced. He has both loved and lost. Mark N. Penn lives his philosophy which comes through in his unique style, cheeky voice, and insightful perspective. Finally, he has written the novel “Money Slay” which he is proud to have his name on. And we agree, he should be proud.

Description

The immersive heroic legend of Maxwell Johnston, who learns he can transform humanity with his dreams. Maxwell Johnston displays all the frailties that people exhibit through his high adventures of love, revenge, truth, and intoxication. A race towards fame, fortune, and world peace involves finding and nullifying Osuma, a terrorist organization leader. Maxwell Johnston finds out that his competition includes Douglas Miller, a bureaucratic special security officer, and Amethyst Felucca the lucky hedonist, who also want to take a ride in the “Money Slay.”

Superficially, “Money Slay” is a cheeky treasure about 280 pages of blood, sex, and rhetoric. Genuinely, it is dense philosophical piece set in an extraordinary journey to battle modern terrorism with the thrills of traditional thriller and the chills of a horror. Edutainment in its highest form, “Money Slay” tests one to solidify one’s preconceived perceptions or make a change never previously considered. Must one abandon who one is, to become who one will be?

Playfully irreverent, “Money Slay” takes one on an exciting undulating ride that most novels evade provoking. It leads to deep introspection and surprising rewards for those who dare. A trip of discovery to be taken, an expedition for the initiated, treasures to be plundered. Paradoxically, what is observed is something else unexpected that is concealed with twists, misleading distractions, and questions to be answered.

Mark N. Penn’s latest penned thriller opens with Guy, a person who is not as he seems, who becomes invaluable in discovering the terrorist organization leader, Osuma. Maxwell Johnston, Douglas Miller, and Amethyst Felucca all have different reasons to go on their separate escapades, but it leads them all to the same place. Endure long enough, and we all come to the same conclusion; what we do with it, makes us who we are. Osuma may awaken, but he falls back asleep.
Maxwell Johnston, Douglas Miller, and Amethyst Felucca all awake with a brief, sudden realization, an insight that calls them to action. They put aside interferences and focus on their needs. Adjusting philosophical perspectives to achieve greatness in their mission, they conciliate to do what they must as opposed to what they have to in this black book of gritty, raw, bold, and unrestrained adventure.

Book excerpt

Money Slay

By Mark N. Penn

Prologue

This morning awoke with an immense brilliant sky. It was the kind of morning that started and left one far behind as it rushed toward the noon. The light stole slumbering souls, as it got progressively brighter. The sky opened its’ eyes wider and broader as noontime approached. The wind’s breath transformed from soft, sweet dew at breakfast into harsh, spicy scorn after lunch. The birds and insects calmed down from their daybreak cheerfulness to a meager commonness as midday drew near. The day was full and prepared to sleep, but it was the instance to stir before the darkness presented itself.

“I am awake!” Guy says internally as he observes fuzzy surroundings. He just finished receiving a relatively noninvasive exploratory procedure. He is awakening from sedation in a modern surgical-center aftercare room. It is extremely bright. It is vibrant white, fuzzy chrome, and an unclear bottle green. The room feels uncomfortably open, wide, and large with many patients just coming out of their anesthesia nearby. For the most part, they are still not awake, and it is an eerie scene. That is if Guy could comprehend his feelings other than he is alive, groggy, and a bit grumpy. Guy does not care about anything right now except for the most basic of concerns, “Am I okay?” Moreover, “When can I leave?” In addition, “Where is my friend?”

The nurse enters with a male urine bottle and has him urinate for a laboratory sample. Guy urinates blood, which the nurse explains is normal. Guy is moved to his recovery room that is the same room in which he occupied before the surgery. The nurse brings in a sausage patty breakfast sandwich. It has pork products, contrary to his religion as is noted in his charts. The nurse shares a sick sense of humor along with her assistants. They tell Guy that it is all beef and that he must eat a least a few bites worth before he can be discharged. He does as they request, tasting the thicker viscosity than beef grease, then he stops with inquisitiveness. A nurse assistant opens the curtain separating his room from the hallway and enters.

Guy grumpily states, “I need some drink.”

The nurse assistant politely asks, “Which would you like? We have diet soda pop, orange juice, apple juice.”

Guy with a slightly questioning, weak voice responds, “Orange juice, please.”

The nurse hooks Guy up to the vital sign monitoring equipment. The nurse assistant leaves and notifies Guy’s friend, Mister Abdulla who is sipping sugary tea in the waiting room, that Guy is done with surgery and that he should go and visit him while the doctor reviews the results of the operation. The nurse assistant then goes to get Guy’s juice and dress it with a straw. While she does that, Mister Abdulla walks down the hall of the surgery ward to hear nurses laughing about somebody eating pork when he is not supposed to, per his silly religion, because they switched it. That is all he got from the conversation as he passed the secondary nurses’ station. When he gets to Guy’s room, he figures out that the nurses did the switcheroo on Guy, when he observes the half-eaten breakfast sandwich. Mister Abdulla keeps his observations to himself until Guy is safe.

The doctor enters and quickly articulates that the procedure went well, no problems were found, and the effects of the sedation, namely memory loss, will fade soon. The doctor says this a lot during his work week. He does not seem to take pleasure in reporting to his patients. Mister Abdulla listens intensely since Guy will probably not remember the doctor being there.

The nurses’ assistant enters again to deliver Guy’s orange juice. She also lets him know that he should feel some discomfort in his abdomen because of built-up gas during the surgery and he should move around there in bed so that he passes out some of the built-up gas. Mister Abdulla takes note of her name and decides that since she was retrieving him and Guy’s drink at the time that she was probably not in on the deception involving the pork sandwich.

The nurse releases Guy after thirty minutes of good vital signs and a drink of orange juice and a sufficient passing of internal gas. His friend Mister Abdulla wheels him out to the car in a hospital wheelchair. They drive off into the desert. The ride coaxes Guy to squirrel out more farts that channel up his crack to exit the coin purse.

Tonight, Guy has a unique barbeque get-together to attend. However, after the fun is over, he will collect himself, since tomorrow is a big day. Surgery generally is not courteous to the convenience of the patient’s planned schedule. Mister Abdulla hands Guy his hospital discharge papers and tells him, “The doctor says it went well, no tearing or obvious reason for your pain. They’ll know in a week the results of the biopsies.”

Guy complains back:
Doctors suck! They can never find out what is wrong with you to fix you. They just refer you to professionals who cannot understand why you would be feeling any pain there or what to do next except start back at square one. Going back to hospital departments that you already went to, especially when they say they cannot find any problems, is the runaround. You would think that they would be able to say, “Well, it’s not in my specialty, but usually others with that pain go see this specialist and or this other specialist.” You must figure it out on your own. You must doctor yourself. Then you must convince them that you are right and they should consider it. It is like passing notes between angry parents. They can only find things that you cannot see. If you are lucky enough that, they test for it. They never do a complete body scan and make a real overall health assessment. I just pass stones all the time, and nothing gets better. I still hurt. It’s unreasonable. Why don’t they fix the pain? Why don’t they do their job?
Mister Abdulla asks, “Didn’t they give you any Vicodin?”

Guy answers, “It doesn’t take away all the pain, and it makes me too loopy. I just sit there switching channels on the TV for an hour before I notice what I’m doing. I think they just give me pain pills until I am incapable of complaining.”

Guy complained about healthcare specialists and authorities, “They give you a pill. Then to combat side effects of that pill, you need to take more pills. This pill will upset my stomach, so I need this pill, which stops me from defecating, so I need to take another pill. It’s just on and on.” Guy had health problems that were not being solved or understood by those, which he paid large amounts of money, to do. According to society, they were the correct people to go visit. What is wrong?
“Why don’t they just do their job and figure it out, instead of making referrals when they feel like being lazy?” Guy says, “Why can’t professionals just get it together and do what they claim that they to do? They should fix you as a mechanic fixes a car. Mechanics don’t say that they don’t know what the problem is. No, they fix it. Then you pay them when it’s fixed. You don’t pay them to practice their vocation.” Guy complained about other things also, “I want the power!”

Mister Abdulla attempts to calm down Guy’s rant by saying, “At least they don’t have to fix your face.”

Guy replies while pointing at his mouth, “They still got to get rid of this grimace.”

Mister Abdulla texts, on his mobile phone to some of his friends, to have them invite Guy’s doctor, nurse, and a couple nurse assistants to the get-together tonight.
Mister Abdulla says, “We’ll do the old switcheroo like we did before. That’ll make you smile.”

It is not that Guy had meant that he wanted electricity or some form of work power formula from variables in an equation. No, he did not want that kind of power. Guy wanted more control of his life, his environment. Guy wanted the sort of control where you do not feel that sense of things just happen to me. He wanted more than nondairy creamer and sweeteners not derived from sugar. In his ideal philosophy, Guy would live, and there would be no surprises. Everything explained quickly and easily by his philosophy, his religion, and his way of life. All the people that agreed with his ideal would live forever off those who did not. He hated other faiths and other governments or groups that did not concur with his worldview. That is why he is where he is today.

Tonight, Guy is cooking for about twenty of his friends, and their boys, who do agree with his ideal, his philosophy, his religion. They are tailgating in a rest area, cleaned once a week by a team of three mentally challenged individuals, on a lonely highway out in the desert. It is somewhat like a father and son picnic. Guy is tending a split wood fire cooking processed wild meat while he drinks and talks with his friend Mister Abdulla. They are all men, men who pass on vegetables or any side dish. For here and now, the meat is king. Guy positioned the brand-new logs with a stick and stone as though he was a Neanderthal. He fanned them to flame with a large piece of cardboard that he had found in the rest area’s recycling container. We are all just great water apes who struggle it out, on land.

Mister Abdulla was one of Guy’s best friends. Most of Guy’s friends are friends that he met when he hired them as employees for his father’s construction company from jails or through friends in the corrections systems meeting other friends and so on. There is not an abundance of steady, legal vocations available for most newly released convicts. Guy and his father provided them with an option that was difficult to pass up. All of Guy’s friends agree with his ideal way of life and his approach to achieving those goals. This makes them a close circle of Guy’s friends. Mister Abdulla was as round as he was tall. He was the spiritual heart of the group.

Mister Abdulla rolls over the cooking meat to even its doneness and to get a good smoke ring penetrating the surface of the meat. The meat was so fresh, processed merely hours earlier today, and being the only food, it just had to be prepared to tame the wildness just right.

Following, he shows Guy a new book he found, “Here read the first little bit of this story.” Mister Abdulla hands the small brown and avocado green, abstractly, decorated book over to Guy. Guy starts to read, “The Life of Mike Howard”:

You are reading. You look over the page trying to divine the idea of where this writing goes. You pause in your reading when encountering a period. You notice that your pause is longer than when reading a comma. Then you simply let that thought float away so that you can be open to form new ideas. Continuing in your journey, you read onward to discover what it is all, just all, about. Is this book written specifically, to talk to you, the reader? As if, the book was a dynamic living object. Did you write this book as a note to yourself? You do not remember anything like that. Did you do it in your sleep? Did someone slip hallucinogens into your breakfast? Maybe it was your lunch. How did you miss that when they did? You think, “Wait for a second, how many copies of this little book are there? Is anyone else reading this part right now?”

“It is a paranoid, a kind of hypnotic, weird sort of read,” Guy states, while questioningly looking at his friend Mister Abdulla, for validation.

Mister Abdulla excitedly replies, “Yeah. Pretty neat, huh? It’s rather hard to wrap your mind around it; it just goes on the same way for like the whole book.”

Guy nods and makes a grunting sound to acknowledge as though he understands. However, Guy was not that type of person who would continue to read that kind of book. “The Lies of My Coward,” as he would describe the title, was the type of book that he would never understand. He was fine with that. Guy could only go so far into exploring alternative ideas. Some are interesting for the newness quality. However, other ideas like theoretical math were just concepts beyond his realm. Guy is like an ala carte Christian who picks and chooses what parts of the religion fit with his secular vision.

Guy scholarly mentions, “Hister wrote a book which changed the way a whole country thought. He got rich. Then he got powerful. He influenced a country weakened by an economic downturn. Words matter.”

Guy, this barbecue’s master, applies his final application of glaze sauce to the meat. It really smells so appetizing, meaty and juicy. Dinner will be ready soon. It is going to be good.

Mister Abdulla speaks with Guy about how great it is to post blogs, recruit using message boards on up-to-the-minute websites, and do journalistic TV-styled web shows to broadcast anything to everyone, “Anyone can do it! There’s unlimited, unregulated access to the web and to post videos on popular sites that might get a viral following. Like our latest production that has close to thirty million views. That’s how we’ll revolutionize the world, from the roots on up.”

Best place to buy your book

Buy Money Slay

A Case of Wrath

Author

C.L. Stegall

Author Bio

C.L. Stegall is a former Military Intelligence Linguist with a love of carrot cake. Mutli-published, C.L. writes of dangerous situations and the relationships that get our protagonists through those situations (somewhat) safely. With a wealth of experience and hard living behind him (and, in between making a living and a family), he has published novels, novellas, and short stories, as well as edited two anthologies while running his own publishing company. These days, he continues to write and to speak at writers’ workshops and events whenever he can.

When not writing or speaking to folks about writing, CL spends his time with his lovely, irrepressible Wife and shares his abode with two dogs who think they run the joint.

Description

Dracula meets Criminal Minds

Dallas Police Detective Sean Fennema has seen some very peculiar things in his career, some of which still haunt him. Having moved from Orlando to the bustling metroplex of Dallas, Fennema had no expectations of a simple case load. That was a good thing.

Now, a series of brutal murders is vexing the department and Fennema is feeling the pressure. Nothing in the case makes sense, yet he feels a strange connection to it, as if there is an odd familiarity that he can’t quite place a finger on. It is even more frustrating that his prime suspect, novelist Damon Gables, seems to have an airtight alibi for each of the murders. The thing is, he even admits to be with the first victim a short time before her death.

Fennema finds himself searching down every trail, even through history books. He runs down every lead and soon learns that Damon may be in just as much danger as the murderer’s victims. Suddenly, a terrible truth begins to unfold that not only seems implausible but even threatens everything Fennema believes in.

Could what began as a case of serial killing actually be a series of specifically chosen attacks spanning centuries? Could his murderer be more unique than he would have expected and more dangerous than he could have ever imagined?

If the seasoned detective is in over his head, how can Damon rise to the challenge? Can they face off against a sly monster with a heart full of vengeance? Or, will they both be victims in a case of wrath?

Combining the edginess of a police procedural with the dark twists of urban fantasy, A Case of Wrath is a powerful trek into an underworld we rarely witness.
A Case of Wrath is the first novella in the Valence of Infinity series, written by C.L. Stegall. The first novel in the series, The Waif’s Tale, is to be published in December of 2017.

What’s been said about “A Waif’s Tale” – “Takes the reader through the amazing life of Paris as she grows from homeless orphan to one of the elite in an underground vampire society. Full of intrigue, love, and betrayal, it’s a unique and fantastic addition to vampire lore.” – O. M. Grey, Amazon Gothic Romance best-selling author of Avalon Revisited

Book excerpt

“He could’ve changed his name,” Anders said, pecking at his keyboard in what appeared to be slow motion to Fennema. They had been searching for information on the suspect for hours and had run into a blank wall.

“There would still be a record of that somewhere.” He stared at his screen and scrolled back and forth through what little information he could dig up on Gables.
Damon (no middle initial) Gables had bought the house in Turtle Creek in 2000. His noted profession was writer but, other than a few online columns, Fennema couldn’t find any books by the man. Prior to the purchase of the home, as far as they could discern, Damon Gables did not exist. There was no birth certificate, no arrest record, not even a parking citation on file. Fennema huffed in frustration and leaned back in his squeaky chair.

“What about immigration?” Anders said, still tapping at his keys like a metronome.

“Nope. I checked. Interpol doesn’t have anything either.”

“Man. It’s creepy.” Anders shivered with exaggerated motion, shaking his arms out after.

“What?”

“Those words. Eat your heart out. Gives me the willies.”
Fennema sat bolt upright and began banging on his keyboard hard enough to draw Anders’ attention.

“What you got, boss?”

“Don’t call me that,” Fennema replied, still stabbing at the keys with fierce intent. “Those words mean something to the killer. Something specific.”

“I’m sure they do. But, what?”

“Seems to be a few different schools of thought about how the phrase originated. Has to be a clue in here somewhere. I just know it.” He continued typing, scrolling and then halted. Fennema’s face clouded with concern. He’d had a gut feeling that this case was going to be more unpleasant than usual. “Great,” he muttered. “Sometimes I hate it when
I’m right.”

“What? Spill it, Sean. Whatcha got?”

“It looks like this was never as simple a phrase as we use it today. Most believe the origin refers to the one being taunted as one who will have their heart—the core of their very being—eaten out with desire, bitterness, or pain.”

“Well, that ain’t good.” Anders’ mouth quickly snapped shut on seeing Fennema’s disapproving expression. “What else?” he said, leaning in toward the screen.

“As far back as the 16th century, it appears to have meant to suffer from extreme anguish or grief. Whoever wrote that message had someone particular in mind, and they meant it for that person or people specifically.”

“Maybe meant for us?” Anders questioned. It was a valid supposition. Over the course of modern history there were innumerable instances where criminals had left messages for their pursuers.

“Hell if I know.” Fennema rested his cheek on his fist and skipped to another web page. He read aloud. “Historically, the phrase has been used in a myriad of manners and instances, but one is more memorable than most.

“In the mid-to-late 18th century, on the cusp of the French Revolution, in the small town of Codigoro, Italy, there was a local ruler who had basically proclaimed herself queen. The woman was brutal, intelligent and a force to be reckoned with. Her name was Cinzia Rada. She had the reputation for taking young men under her ‘care.’ They were almost never heard from again. The stories of her sadism and masochistic tendencies were almost as horrible as her propensity to simply execute those who stood against her.”

“Jesus.” Anders sat in rapt attention, leaning forward in his chair. His gaze focused solely on Fennema as the detective continued his discourse.

Author Website

http://www.CLStegall.com

Best place to buy your book

https://www.amazon.com/Case-Wrath-Valence-Infinity-Novella/dp/1549750127

Jassik Creed & The Mermaids of Emerald Lagoon

Author

Jonathan J Snyder

Author Bio

Jonathan Snyder is a author and freelancer writer who has been threatened by his muse anytime he goes astray. Absolutely in love with Science Fiction and Fantasy, he furiously writes stories to satisfy that writing urge and to keep his muse at bay. He is happily married to his artist wife Susanna and has 2 adorable children.

Description

Treasure, mermaids, and a grumpy dwarf; it was not anything that anyone was expecting. Jassik Creed and his pal Rattuk Mulchberry had been on a quest to find the legendary sword of Skarr Razorbeard when they stumbled upon the three mermaids. The adventure became a mission to save these three unlucky mermaids while avoiding the Royal Sheriff who is out to arrest Jassik if he can. Having been falsely accused of a crime, both Jassik and Rattuk have done everything they can to keep out of the long arm of the King of Goldmyst Isle. The Sheriff Tullam is a tough man and not one easily fooled.

There is more than meets the eye as they try to find a way to accomplish their goals while staying one step ahead of their adversary. There is a rumor around the mountains that they are exploring of a monster from Rovania’s ancient times. A monster that has hunted and killed adventurers who had come across it. Was there any truth to it or was it a legend that came about the dangers and perils of being near such a mountain. Only time will tell if the two will discover the truth of the caves and the Sword of Skarr Razorbeard.

Jassik and Rattuk will find out as their adventure takes them deep into the caves of Skarr mountains to the little village of Pumpkin Spice. Arrows, monsters, and high adventure await the duo as they explore the land of Rovania. Will Jassik be able to find the sword and save the mermaids or will he be finally captured or worse. There is no telling what type of mess the two could wind up getting into.

Come along for the high adventure and exciting challenges in the first installment of the Jassik Creed series. A fun fantasy for all ages where adventure and wonder surround the heroes and their lives. There is an adventure out there, and both Jassik and Rattuk will find it and face it as a team. Grab your sword, hat and get ready for the Mermaids of Emerald Lagoon.

Book excerpt

The sun showed down brightly upon the old Wiggen’s road, baking the windswept path that once had been a fine path. It had now started to be reclaimed by the forest that hugged its edges threatening to consume it completely. The breeze moved along briskly, carrying the smell of honey blossom and mint while dark furred bees danced among the colorful flowers that stretched into the deep woods.

The only other sound on that forgotten road was the happy crunching of dirt under the boots of two adventurers who were making their way towards the nearest town. The first, Jassik Creed, wore a loose white shirt and brown leather pants. A long gray highway coat with deep pockets covered the shirt and pants and a black leather belt was strapped around his waist. It beautiful saber with an exquisite handle that glimmered in the heat of the sun.

The other was Rattuk Mulchberry, he was the most serious of the two. He was a rat that stood as tall as Jassik’s knees. He wore a red velvet vest with gold trimming and a magnificent sword at his side which spoke of his past wealth in the land of Rodencha. Rattuk spent much of the walk trying to get his beret to stay straight, but the wind merrily kept shifting it on his head. The Rodenchan finally gave up with a sigh.

“I still think Pine Hollow was still a great diversion,” Jassik said with a grin on his face. “Those ruins were quite fascinating.”

“Until those skeletons attacked. That’s when it lost its charm for me,” Rattuk answered giving his hat one more adjustment in vain. “Not only that, we had to run into Sheriff Tullam right as we were escaping that cursed place.”

“Yes, that was a bit exciting,” Jassik said remembering the few arrows that came a bit too close.

“We still could head east toward the Stone Talon Mountains. We could find some treasure or a band of explorers looking for a good hand at the blade,” Rattuk suggested.

“Hmmm, that’s an idea.”
The two walked in silence for a bit more thinking about their choices when they came to a halt at a crossroad. In the center of the branching paths, an old wooden post with two signs stood. The golden letters had faded from years of weather and time, but they could still make out the words.

“Hmm…the left road goes to Dead Wind.” Jassik volunteered.

The Rodenchan shook his head emphatically.

“Why not?”

“That city is a ghost town, supposedly cursed. Remember the last time we went into one of those?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jassik answered rubbing his left arm. The bruise still had yet to fade.

“What’s the other road?” Rattuk asked trying to make out the words on the second sign.

“Pumpkin Spice…wait, isn’t there something about that town?” Jassik thought scratching his head.

Rattuk looked at the sign, half hoping it would speak to him, but it was his human compatriot that remembered.

“Yes. Skarr Razorbeard used to raid and pillage around Pumpkin Spice three hundred years ago. There’s a legend that says that he made a glorious sword out of the best
materials he could steal.”

“It was also his downfall,” Rattuk warned.

“How about we head that direction. At least it’s not cursed.”

With a spring in their step, the two adventurers turned down the road heading to the west on their way to Pumpkin Spice.

 

Author Website

http://www.jtworld.net

Best place to buy your book

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/652532

Padma and the Elephant Sutra

Author

W L Snowden

Author Bio

Born and raised in York, England. MA in Mental Health Social Work. Spent many years working for charities in UK. Between jobs I travelled widely, mostly in India. A non-seeking seeker of truth, or nothing, not sure which. When I stopped looking, I wrote my first novel. I now live in Devon, England, with my soulmate.

Description

We have to remember that what we observe is not nature in itself, but nature exposed to our method of questioning.—Werner Heisenberg

In the ancient parable of ‘six blind men and an elephant’, each man tries to comprehend the creature by feeling a different part of its body. They all incorrectly conclude
what the creature is, based on their partial individual experiences.

Padma and the Elephant Sutra invites the reader to imagine the perspective of the elephant in the parable. It reveals a world far older and more mysterious than humans have ever comprehended. As custodians of paradise, elephants are deeply concerned with the rise of humanity and its impact on the fragile world they are born to protect. In their clans, they gather to discuss how to fulfil an ancient covenant made with an alien creature, convinced this holds the key to healing the humans of their discordant song. Events take a different course with the sudden, but long anticipated, arrival of a blue moon.

A young, pink elephant named Padma is recently discovered by the Uposatha clan, having emerged from the waters like a lotus flower. Unsure of who she is, Padma is sent to complete the time-worn agreement following an elephant Seer’s disputed recognition of her true identity. Early in Padma’s quest she meets George, an old coffee planter with a dark past. Beginning as a child soldier, a drummer boy at war with the thirteen colonies, George has developed unusual gifts and an unwelcome persona in his traumatised mind Together, elephant and human journey across the island of Ceylon in search of their destinies. It is 1830 and new humans have arrived, bringing with them strange and frightening ways. Their presence brings a series of unexpected obstacles for the seekers of truth. But as they continue, they also meet many allies who help them reveal the path as it unfold before them.

Padma and the Elephant Sutra explores our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the natural world of which we are a part. It has broad spiritual and ecological themes within a wide historical context and will appeal to anyone who likes to meditate on our shared human experience and our critical responsibility as the new custodians of paradise.

Book excerpt

Then she heard the loud boom, followed by a sound which she struggled to comprehend. Never before detected, it was not of this world. Spirits dissolved prematurely into the pure bright air unnoticed, while Chaddanta stood distracted by the unfamiliar note. The noise increased, not unpleasant, merely unknown. As she listened, she tried in vain to identify a source. It seemed to come from everywhere. Am I imagining it? She shook her head to no avail. Is it even a sound? Her attention sharpened as memory strained in search of a familiar sonance. It finally settled on Om. The nearest likeness she could find to the unusual intonation was the first Word, Om. Chaddanta stood bewildered, incredulous of her senses. In all her years on the mountain, she had never happened upon such a…thing.

In the recesses of her unconscious mind, she constructed a tale which would name the new Word. It is a sound like Om, a moving towards Om, but definitely a not-Om sound. It comes from nowhere, but can be heard everywhere… and so the story continued, changing with every added scrap of information. In the earliest human languages, it would be referred to as ad-Om Chaddanta realised the ancestors had left. She paced and snorted in confusion. But then events chimed a most irregular tune as the sound began a transmutation from no-thing to some-thing. First, she noticed an absence, a lack of any sensory experience, evoking in her a vague feeling of unease. Above her, and all around, was nothing. Yet the cypher had a presence, apprehended by the familiar world beyond the emptiness. She comprehended an annular space surrounding the top of the holy mountain. A ring of nothing, she thought.

As her mental processes strained to make sense of the bizarre event, her mind gradually connected the sound to the circular shape, a breakthrough. Then a further realisation that the area was no longer empty, as the vibrating ad-Om continued to actualise. A translucent ring hovered over the mountain top. Reflecting the early morning sun, an aura of multi-coloured flames surrounded a golden orange halo. It quivered and undulated laterally, snakelike. Sporadic flares erupting from its surface engulfed the rhododendron bushes but did not appear to burn them. Chaddanta detected neither heat nor scent from the restless, gyrating form, only light and sound. Mesmerised, she watched the rippling surges, bathed in its lustrous flaming brilliance.

Her mind raced faster than preceding events, anticipating further revelation. None were forthcoming. The ring continued to remain unresolved, not materialised in any way recognisable. Its resemblance, she likened to a self-consuming, fire-breathing nagi serpent. She imagined the beast spinning around to devour its tail, never completing the task, hurriedly escaping to recapture its rear in an endless, vicious circularity. The dragon-serpent remained emergent, not manifest, a suspended potentiality. Humans later used the symbol to represent ad-Om.

Book Cover https://www.everywritersresource.com/selfpublished/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Padmabookcover.jpg
Genre Fiction

Author Website

https://elephantsutra.com/

Best place to buy your book Padma and the Elephant Sutra