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Bridge To Resurrection

Bridge To Resurrection by Adrian Rogers
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Set in an alternative world the king of an impoverished kingdom is murdered by agents of a predatory neighbor because he will not betray a secret which his enemy desires above all. But because his murder fails to produce the desired result an invasion is planned and implemented. The king's untimely death prevents his successor from being acknowledged. But help is forthcoming from two high degree initiates who succeed in locating the dead king's spirit and guiding it to the place of judgment in the constellation of Orion.
Double Dragon Publishing; July 2013
307 pages; ISBN 9781771151207
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Title: Bridge To Resurrection
Author: Adrian Rogers
 
Excerpt
OVERTURE In the form of a prose poem entitled 'PRESENTING THE MYTH' Blend the myth of The King who must die for his people with the need to preserve a royal, esoteric secret upon which resurrection and the fate of that people depends, because, 'this myth is as old as time, linking story and history, whether by war or an engineered crime.' The possibilities are endless, because, 'beyond the bar of death is transcendence, resurrection, hope beyond hope, a breath, divine energy, insurrection against government by despair.' So what are authors and their characters to do? 'Challenge with invocation, confront a quest, with a prayer, a daring, a provocation, an abyssal plunge, as a flare-light against dark sears perceptions of an endless fall,' resulting in, 'a rising again, the mark of victory, because they answered a call and dared the passage of the everlasting stars until judgement and vindication, with a message delivered, and all that bars a people's hope obliterated, by those consecrated.' All... 'in an unfinished temple, with a murdered king, a secret, un-betrayed but lost?' Moreover, 'is truth so profoundly simple? Does it resonate and ring? Will dispossession's victims, dismayed by doubts that trample on confidence sing only those songs commemorating defeat? Will the humble with courage bring Faith and Gnosis, call the seven-rayed power to make the proud tremble?' It will depend, 'on two from another world; one royal secret, one co-operating blend of energies enigmatically divine; on those summoned to challenge darkness and discontent unmitigated, releasing a spirit imprisoned, and revealing undreamt of possibilities, scenarios, and setting the seal on love, but as the curtain rises... ' ACT 1: THE DEATH 'There was three men came out of the west, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn should die.' (From an old English folk song) Scene 1: The Discontent of Apophis The rightful King of Kirwan felt the heat forcing its way up through the thick soles of his desert sandals. He was standing on the flat rock edge of a red sandstone bluff, shading his eyes against the sun's merciless glare, and gazing down on the river valley of Kirwan. 'I might as well gaze at this, seeing that there is little else left of my kingdom to gaze at.' It was an accurate assessment, with the best and wealthiest parts of his kingdom stolen by a neighbouring ruler. About this thief the rightful King would say little, except that 'the man is at least honest enough not to even pretend that there is, or ever was any justification for his aggression.' Instead, he ruefully reflected, 'My enemy simply operates on the discredited, but nonetheless oft-used principle 'that might is right'.' So, all that was left to the rightful King was a river valley, farmed by peasants using the most primitive of irrigation systems. 'That, and an undistinguished mud-brick town, that I am pleased, for want of anything better to call my capital.' The usurper had though, he reflected cynically, been kind enough to leave him with the large tract of desert stretching westwards from where he now stood: red sand, yellow sand, brown sand, gravel, and wind-sand-blasted rocks. It had been an easy enough gift to give, since even a camel would have been hard put to it to survive in such heat-and-wind-scorched, uselessly dry barrenness. Thereafter, the only pleasure to be had from stopping, and staring down at the valley was the pleasure of comparison. 'Because the bright, yet variegated greens of the farmed land, and the gold of wheat, barley, and spelt in the harvest season provide a pleasant contrast, and a rest for the eyes, after the bleak ferocity of the desert colours'. Yet he could not resist the temptation to wonder what his usurping enemy was doing, while standing on this barren bluff, looking, and speculating. 'One thing though I do know, that Apophis is not satisfied, and sooner, or later he will act against us once more.'*** Meanwhile, Apophis-ta-Set, the self-made King of Kirwan-Settimania was discontented, a detail concerning this tolerated, but unloved king unknown to the toiling peasant majority of his subjects, but well known to his official inner circle. Moreover, not only was he a usurper, but Kirwan-Settimania was not the country's original name. Yet, although Apophis ruled on the old principle that possession was 'nine-tenths of the law', and was forced to live therefore in a state of permanent insecurity, he was not discontented on this account. Neither was his conscience, if he still had one troubled by anything, nor did he suffer any discomfort or deprivation. With an ample harem, with innumerable slaves, eunuchs, and servants, a sycophantic court, and total command of his nation's resources, he lacked, in a material sense, nothing. 'He has but to lift a finger', as many a less fortunate subject might have enviously remarked, 'and everything or anything is possible.' Apophis was a big man, both tall and bulky, but with more muscle than fat. He was black-haired, like the native Kirwans whose kingdom he had stolen by a blend of subterfuge and force, but unlike them he wore his hair shoulder-length, and sported a full, neatly trimmed, black beard. His flashing, constantly roving eyes were blue-black, his skin was sallow, and his voice rather high-pitched for so big a man; but none of these things troubled him. The King cared little for appearances. He was clever and well read, both in the literature of his people and that of the conquered native Kirwans. He was a shrewd politician and a subtle negotiator when it suited him. These qualities however often failed to find constructive expression, because of an innate self-centredness, a periodic inability to control his passions, and a nagging though un-admitted sense of insecurity. So was this discontent then the offspring of temperament? Partly, but it was also more than that. Apophis was leader of the Settian people, and, unlike the Kirwan royal family he had so shrewdly supplanted could claim no illustriously royal, or divine pedigree. The Settians were a numerous and warlike tribe whose native country lay north-east of the great river that bisected the desert kingdom of Kirwan. Their lands were periodically afflicted by drought, thus forcing them to barter for grain from neighbouring Kirwan, where food production based on efficient irrigation and predictable river levels was always more than adequate for local needs. Then the inevitable happened: trade led to migration, and to the setting-up of Settian communities at the delta mouth of the 'Divine River', as the Kirwans called their waterway, and this was when Apophis's skills as a negotiator came into play. The Kirwans had enough land, and plentiful resources; so surely they could spare some for a 'needy people'? He had judged them well. The Kirwans, obliging and easy going readily agreed to set aside land for these new neighbours, quite overlooking the well-attested fact that this 'needy people' had an excellent war record, which included the use of iron-framed chariots and siege engines. They also overlooked the fact that history furnishes plenty of examples of such 'refugee'communities being used as a fifth column. Neither did it seem to occur to them to suggest to these 'needy people' that, when the famine in their land was over they might like to return home. So the careless Kirwans appear to have made it easy for the Settian ruler to lay his plans, give them time to mature then swoop in from the north-east like a desert sandstorm. Their initial land-based assault was launched across an ill-guarded frontier under cover of darkness, with a sea-borne force coming downwind from the north at dawn. The Kirwans, taken by surprise, didn't stand a chance. Their army, after a thousand years of relative peace, was backward and ill equipped by comparison with the invaders, so it was easily routed. Old King Kamun-ta-Ahamay of Kirwan had died shortly before the invasion. His late born, but only son Sequen was still a boy. The lad was old enough to be recognised as King, but not old enough to rule without a regent, and barely three days after the rites associated with coronation had been completed, the Settians came. The young King, along with Kohan, High Priest of The Adon, their only recognised divinity, and with Imhotas The Royal Prophet, a few family members, and some loyal servants had managed to escape by river under cover of darkness. They headed south. The young King was never to forget that night: the shouting, the screams, the roaring flames, and the glow of fires highlighting the skyline of his capital Amora. It was a hard lesson learnt early, but at least one Kirwan King would survive to never take anything for granted.
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ISBNs
177115120X
9781771151207