Judas hung himself in a place known as the Akeldama or Field of Blood.
But what if his death didn't end his betrayal?
What if his tainted blood seeped deep into the earth, into burial caves, causing a counterfeit resurrection of the dead?
Gina Lazarescu, a Romanian girl with a scarred past, has no idea she is being sought by the undead.
The Collectors, those released from the Akeldama, feed on souls and human blood. But there are also the Nistarim, those who rose from their graves in the shadow of the Nazarene's crucifixion--and they still walk among us, immortal, leftto protect mankind.
Gina realizes her future will depend on her understanding of the past, yet how can she protect herself from Collectors who have already died once but still live?
The Jerusalem's Undead Trilogy takes readers on a riveting journey, as imaginative fiction melds with biblical and archaeological history.
About the Author
Eric Wilson is the New York Times best-sellingwriter of Fireproof novelization as well as Flywheel and Facing the Giants. He lives in Nashville with his wife and two daughters.
Read an Excerpt
FIELD OF BLOODJERUSALEM'S UNDEAD TRILOGY
By ERIC WILSON
Thomas NelsonCopyright © 2008 Eric Wilson
All right reserved.
Chapter OneSummer 1989-Cuvin, Romania
Gina's dog gave a sharp yip, rose from the front step of the whitewashed cottage, and hobbled forward on the three legs with which he'd been born. he sniffed the hot afternoon air and growled, his copper-colored fur rising like bristles on his back.
"Hush, Treia," Gina said. "It's only me."
he met her at the step and set about investigating her shoes, her shins.
"It's okay. That smell, it's just Teodor." she set down a sack of red potatoes and patted her dog's head. "Look what he got me."
Treia's attention turned to her hand, where the juice of fresh blackberries stained a brown paper bundle. He caught the first offering from Her fingertips and chased the second across the stone pathway.
"And all it cost me was a kiss," Gina whispered.
A kiss that had tasted like goat's milk on Teo's lips, like cut grass. Not unpleasant. Not at all. The flutters in her tummy had told her she was becoming an adult, and it was true that she would be turning twelve in a matter of hours. A woman, by Jewish standards.
"Gina," her mother called from inside. "Bring the sack here. How am I to make ciorba without potatoes?"
"Sorry, Mamica." "Why the delay? I hope you weren't talking to that boy again."
Gina pushed the bundle into the pocket of her handmade dress, then carried her burden into the kitchen area where Nicoleta was bent over the oven. Scents of parsley and celery root laced the air. Lunch would be stuffed cabbage and vegetable soup.
"Set it down."
She obeyed. Took a moment to scratch at a bite below her ear.
"I can't do it all," her mother said. "You must shoulder your responsibilities, you know this?"
"You'd think you were from Bucharest or Timisoara, a regular city girl, spoiled and soft." Her mother dumped potatoes beside a mound of sliced carrots. "Take a look at me. I travel once a week to study at the university, but you certainly don't see me neglecting my duties. Time to grow up, you hear?"
The words stung. Though she admired her mother's commitment to education, that grasping for knowledge seemed to have weakened her hold on tenderness.
Locked in this young girl's body, Gina was ready to break free, to pursue her own dreams. She loved the village children, adored their innocent, grubby faces, and her heart yearned to be of some use in an orphange.
Not that she had much to offer.
But weren't there constant cries for workers at the centers-in nearby Arad, in Cluj, even as far away as Constanta on the Black Sea? Stories circulated about urine-soaked mattresses in steel cribs, babies with bedsores, and abuses best left unnamed.
Gina scratched again at her neck.
"What is that?"
Nicoleta yanked her hand away. "A mosquito bite? I told you to use the ointment before going out."
When her mother pulled at her dress collar to sniff her skin, Gina giggled at the touch. She pulled away, and her mother's palm came flying across her cheek.
"It's no laughing matter, Regina. We're susceptible. Do you wish to die, babbling incoherently while some blood disorder turns your brains to mush? As God's servants we must be ever vigilant, or we'll be overtaken by evil."
"It was a mistake. I'm sorry."
"Sometimes I wonder. You're my angel, yes, but a silly girl."
"You know tomorrow I'll be turning-"
"It means nothing. Who has time for such frivolity? Making yourself useful will take you much further in life. Are you listening? There. If it's a gift you're after, I've just given you one."
Gina thought of goat's milk and kisses and said nothing.
"Now tell me," Nicoleta pressed. "Did you kill the creature? That's the Only way to avoid the disorder. It robs the beast of its power over you."
"Stop your quivering. The mosquito, of course."
"Didn't you tell me those were only wives' tales? The talk of gypsies and-"
"Honesty, child. Shush your mouth."
Gina had witnessed this cycle before, from religious hysteria to cold logic to hysteria again. There were so many taboos in this home, things that went unsaid. Perhaps university was her mother's way of fighting off years of misplaced guilt and superstition.
"Quick now," Nicoleta said. "Get me the knife. You know which one."
Gina moved from the kitchen to a small sweltering alcove, where tight window mesh kept out the bugs. Though most Cuvin residents went without such screens and looked upon this household with distrust, she didn't question her mother's eccentricities. She could only hope one day to acquire some of her intelligence and good looks.
Her fingers pushed beneath Nicoleta's bed mat and found the black walnut box with the bronze clasp. The hinged box gave a melodic chime, spreading into a chessboard of blonde and ebony squares. On the underside, glistening chess pieces-piese de sah-waited in red-felt niches for their deployment.
The set's simple elegance sparked her creativity. Honor and warfare. The royal game. Even her name ...
In Romanian, Regina meant "queen." "Child, I told you to be quick."
Gina peeled back the felt and took hold of a concealed dagger, a crude and ancient-looking weapon. This wasn't the first time she would go under its blade to be cleansed of infection. Tonight, as on previous occasions, she would find a way to hide the scar.
She hurried into the kitchen.
"Whatever took you so long? Did you find it?"
"Right here." She surrendered the knife, then squatted on the floor and tilted her head. "I'm ready, Mamica. I promise not to flinch."
He was a Collector of souls. An inky smear in the ether. Borne along by shadows, he and the others had waited on this field's fringes, longing to access the caverns hidden beneath the hard soil, hoping to inhabit the dead.
Millennia had passed. For centuries, this slope had been silent.
Would today be their day?
The Akeldama, as it was called in Aramaic, was no ordinary place. here, blood had been spilled. Here, on the south edge of Mount zion, the Man from Kerioth had taken his own life.
Judas. That was his name in the Christian Bible.
He alone, in all of history, had played host to the Master Collector, and it was this potent infusion, this bitter life force, which had seeped down into tombs full of age-old bones.
The Collector trained his attention again on the work crew now populating the Valley of Hinnom. He wondered if these humans, with their modern machines, might crack open the earth for him and provide entry to the necropolis.
As a cluster leader, he thought of summoning the others, but he'd done that too many times before. Premature hope led to stillborn desire, and it only poisoned them against him.
First, he would take a closer look. Perhaps, cause a distraction.
Mortal minds were so easily turned.
The Collector released his fragile hold on a pitted tree trunk and slipped toward the workers and their heavy machinery.
* * *
Lars Marka brought down the bulldozer's jaws and watched them chew into stubborn Jerusalemite rock. He enjoyed this job. With a foreign work permit, he was making his own money for once, saving for the next leg of his travels while trying to stay one step ahead of his father.
Today was hotter than usual. The operator's cabin had become a sauna, wringing sweat from his pores, and he was about to request a break, when echoes of the past filled his head: You're lazy, son. What else do you want me to say? I offer you a secure job, and you refuse me.
He decided to push through the discomfort.
To prove his father wrong.
Earlier in the year, he had fled the man's domineering presence and, in the grand tradition of his Norwegian forebears, crisscrossed Europe on his way to warmer climates. No doubt his father had already sent out a search team formed from his own security personnel. A prodigal son was an embarrassment not to be tolerated, and-
Shuddering metal shook Lars from his thoughts. The black control knob vibrated from his grip, and the bulldozer screeched forward so abruptly that chips of stone exploded against the Plexiglass, followed by billows of dust. The machine plowed ahead another meter before he could bring it to a grinding halt.
He peered through the cabin's scratched panels. Had anyone seen his mistake? he needed this job if he was going to keep hiding out in Israel.
A voice, from his right.
"What's wrong with you?" The foreman hopped onto the bulldozer and yanked open the door. "Another late night at the bar? Or were you chatting up that French clerk at the youth hostel?"
"No. No, sir. There's this one girl, back in Oslo."
"Kid, you listen to me. Women'll steal your heart and then your soul. Trouble, every last one. Now, pull your head together or I'll relieve you of your duties."
"Sorry," Lars said. "The machine just got away from me for a second."
"Let's hope you haven't destroyed anything."
Lars's gaze followed the man's outstretched finger. Where the bulldozer had bitten into the slope, the detritus of the years had fallen away to reveal a square opening hewn by human hands. Though such findings were not uncommon on the Old City's outskirts, this gave coworkers in dusty hard hats an excuse to gather and gawk, poking at the rubble with shovels.
"Leave it alone," the foreman barked at them. "Step back."
"Just an accident," Lars said.
"Stop your mumbling."
The foreman snatched the flashlight from behind the cabin seat and dropped to the ground. Lars climbed down to join the others. Together, they watched their boss stretch out in the dirt and stab a light into the unknown.
* * *
The Akeldama was open for the first time in eons.
The Collector breezed unseen past the work crew, relishing this momentous event as he slid through the opening. To think that mankind-at long last-had come up with an apparatus capable of peeling away layers of rock.
And the one at the controls had been so susceptible. Weren't they all?
Most Collectors had learned through the ages to manipulate human emotion and will. A whisper of insecurity or temptation. A tender spot in the memory. Yes, preying on weakness was as easy as sifting larvae from sacks of rice.
A shape solidified before him. He floated toward it, tried to identify it, but this was no easy task.
Minus tangible form, he had only the crudest use of the five senses. To him, the cave's coolness was imperceptible. The object-strewn floor was a monochromatic landscape at best. He could detect only the barest whiffs of jasmine and diesel fumes from outside, mixed with these stale odors of death, and the workers' voices were little more than atmospheric vibrations that buffeted his shimmery frame.
This, he admitted, was his curse.
As a result of the Master Collector's defiance, Collectors everywhere had been stripped of the ability to indulge their physical faculties. They'd been left to wander, subjected to this planet's wretchedness. Hollow and lifeless, yet alive, they were parasites. Always on the prowl. Seeking habitations through which they might find perverse and vicarious pleasure.
Man. Woman. Beast ... Any host with a beating heart would do.
Or, in the case of the Akeldama, any skeleton sprinkled in blood.
The Collector brushed over the shape and recognized it now as an ossuary, a repository for the dead. Ages ago, through previous hosts, he had explored Gentile and Egyptian tombs where organs and fluids had been removed from the deceased. Here, he sensed an ambient clarity instead. The Jewish practice of leaving the blood in the corpse meant he would soon be able to smell-almost taste-the wispy afterglow of life and human recollections.
He counted three burial caves, each with adjoining chambers, and a total of forty stone boxes. Would there ever be more powerful revenants than those buried in this unholy ground? Fused with the Man from Kerioth, the Master Collector had allowed a portion of himself to stain this soil deep red; and all around, these bones were waiting to be knit back together by his dark ambition.
The hovering Collector decided it was time to summon his cluster.
* * *
A worker knelt beside the hole. "Anything in there?"
"Hard to tell." The foreman grunted and slithered further into the recess, leaving only feet visible. "Some old cooking pots and vases. I see containers that could be coffins."
"Big enough to hold an adult?"
"A child, maybe." The man scooted back and sat up. "They might be ossuaries, which would mean they're very old."
"Great." The worker rolled granite-colored eyes. "Another history lesson."
"You're a foreigner, Thiago. I don't expect you to appreciate this."
"I'm a Brazilian, sir, but a Jew. I respect my roots."
"In that case, you'll find it interesting to know that it was our ancestors' custom to dig up bodies after they'd been a year in the grave, then to rebury the remains in sealed containers. Usually an ossuary was no bigger than the dead person's longest bone ... the femur."
Thiago muttered an off-color remark, which earned a censoring look from his boss and a round of raucous laughter from the crew.
"Lars, come here." The foreman offered the flashlight from his sitting position. "you found it, so why don't you have yourself a look?"
Accepting this token of forgiveness, Lars lowered himself to the ground. He ignored his coworkers' gibes and ducked his head into the opening. Beyond the cone of white light, he saw only blackness.
He worked himself forward and felt the entryway dip, feeding into a square chamber cut from granite. He noted arched niches built into the walls, limestone boxes, relics, and skeletal remains. On the ceiling, red-black stains gave the impression that blood had seeped down through the ages from above-a possibility, considering the generations that had built here upon previous ones.
Hairs lifted along Lars's arms. This place was creepy, murmuring to him in sybaritic tones. His thoughts jumped to the mythological sirens who'd beckoned men toward their dooms, and he felt both fear and desire tingle through his loins.
He popped back into daylight. Took a large gulp of air.
"What do you think?"
"It's amazing," he told his boss. "Mind if I go in all the way?"
"Not gonna happen, kid. First, we notify the IAA."
Based near Herod's Gate, the Israel Antiquities Authority was zealous about preserving the land's history, and Lars knew construction would be postponed until archaeologists could study and catalog the cavern's contents.
Thiago spoke up. "So, boss, does this mean our workday's over?"
"Looks that way."
The crew roared their approval.
"Go home," the foreman said to the group. "Go on, get out of here, and for your families' sakes take good, long showers. You stink, every last one of you."
"you." Thiago pulled Lars aside. "You earned us some time off. Come along, and I'll buy you all the Maccabee beer you can drink."
Lars Marka was hero for a day. If only his father could see him now.
Grinning, he said, "Sounds good."
"Of course it does, of course." His coworker gave a nod and a wink. "And while we're at it, maybe you and me, we can talk."
"A friend of mine, he owns a bar just a few blocks away. We'll talk there."
* * *
In the moonlight, the lead Collector watched his cluster gather round. He counted eighteen, including himself. Ephemeral wisps. Mere hints of the magnificent creatures they had once been.
"How was it opened?" One wanted to know, her words feathery reverberations in the night. "Are we certain the pact was upheld?"
"Rest assured, a human was responsible. A kid named Lars Marka."
"And his Power of Choice was never violated?"
"Free will, ever at his disposal," the leader said. "Oh, I'll take credit for distracting the young man-fatherly accusations and a measure of self-pity-but the results lie squarely on his shoulders. For us, this means the effects of the Separation end tonight."
The boisterous cheers of those present did little more than stir a breeze in the olive branches.
Excerpted from FIELD OF BLOOD by ERIC WILSON Copyright © 2008 by Eric Wilson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
When I was finished reading this trilogy my mind was screaming for more, yet I was deeply satisfied with each part of the story. Eric has a way of taking you right into the mind of both good and evil, once you read this book you will never think of vampires the same!
A construction crew accidently discovers burial caves on the outskirts of Jerusalem, which turns out to be the Akeldama, the place where Judas Iscariot died. Before the archeologists can arrive to do their thing, the Collectors enter the tombs. The Akeldama Collectors are demon-like beings who have been waiting 2000 years to get at these bones, because bones combined with the blood of Judas that seeped into the soil makes it possible for the Collectors to awaken the dead. Once they each choose a body, they need to feed. Then they need to find and destroy the Nistarim, those immortal beings that rose at the death of the Nazarene to protect mankind. Gina Lazarescu has managed to break away from her controlling mother and make a life for herself in the States. But when she is hit by a van and hears her body heal itself, the past is dug up again. Could she have a connection to the Nistarim her mother used to talk about, and if so, is she being hunted by the undead? I have never read such a unique and creative novel from a Christian publisher. I applaud Thomas Nelson for publishing this book. It's totally creepy-half the book is from the undead (vampire) perspective-so it's not for everyone. I got a bit confused here and there because the story is action packed and moves right along. I found myself going back to reference characters. There is mild sensuality and violence from the bad guys' scenes, but there is nothing graphic. If you like vampire stories, characters that are just as flawed as the next guy, and a plot that keeps you guessing, give this one a try. I was very impressed with how Wilson used scripture and history to weave this creative tale. In fact, when I finished reading it, I ran to my Bible to see the scriptures for myself. Pretty cool stuff. Highly recommended (with caution for the creepy factor).
A Christian vampire novel? Genius. It is quite difficult for vampire fans to find a genuine vampire novel absent of excessive eroticism, yet still embraces the essence to intrigue the imagination. This is not just another spinoff of Bram Stoker's excellent novel, but an exquisitely unique narrative based on vampire lore and enriched with Wilson's originality and creativity. He accomplishes this rare feat while still nourishing an edgy mood. By contrast and point of reference, I've also read Elizabeth Kostova's vampire novel, THE HISTORIAN. Her book is beautifully written, but after a while the suspense fades, which caused me to lose interest. If you like a novel that is a thrill from the first page through the last, Wilson does not disappoint. The story starts with the events following Judas's suicide in the field of Akeldama, or Field of Blood. "What if his tainted blood seeped deep into the earth, into burial caves, causing a counterfeit resurrection of the dead?" Counterfeit life was breathed into the buried dead--and born were the undead. They secretly infiltrate pockets of society, walking dead among the mortal. Their mission: lure the unwary into deviltry and collect souls. An opposing force, the immortal Nistarim, battles to protect mankind from the Akeldama, creating epic tension in the spiritual realms. I appreciate novels that involve impressive research, and this one surpasses typical expectations. The author even travelled to Jerusalem to research the story elements. This depth is important, because it allows the reader to more easily suspend disbelief. This is a sophisticated story--there are enough plot twists to make a perm look straight. It's not hard to follow, but if you like to daydream about other things while you're reading a novel, this book will make you concentrate. Although a spiritual thriller, this is not for the faint of heart. It will scare you. If you frighten easily, I suggest you read it in broad daylight, with the lights on...and the doors locked. Wilson proves it's possible to write a hair-raising, Stephen King-esque novel without the extravagant gore and profanity. It is startling, harrowing, and totally compelling. This is book one in the Jerusalem's Undead series, a series destined to be one of the most talked about in literary circles. You'll never again look at a mysterious insect bite in the same way. Was it really just a mosquito? www.fictionaddict.com
I've waited a long time to read this book. From the first time I read the premise over a year ago, I wanted to read it. The idea of a book's foundation rooted in the Akeldama and Matthew 27:52-53 (The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many.) just seemed to be a powerful combination rich with themes to explore. Wilson did not disappoint. Field of Blood was everything I hoped it would be and much more. With a gentle touch, this dark and gripping story is written with the conviction of an author with a story to tell that the world needs to hear. Consolidating Field of Blood to a paragraph does little good. There's plenty of background on the book at www.jerusalemsundead.com and it does a far better job than I could ever begin to do. Also absent will be any true critique of the author, style, or overall writing of this book (that's better left in more capable hands anyway). Very quickly--it's well written, well researched, and enjoyable to read. So with all that out of the way, I'll get to the point. This is an excellent book for a multitude of reasons. First off, it's different. It offers a glimpse of what Christian fiction without pious constraints can be. Christian fiction can be original and inventive and it can use elements from secular entertainment to create a mind blowing spiritual novel. Not lost is the use of many Biblical passages. From Abraham's conversation with God regarding Sodom and Gomorrah to Jesus' death and resurrection, we are given a wonderful reminder of some of the Bible's powerful stories and an awesome demonstration of God's unfailing love. While many books get so tied up in teaching the Bible and specific lessons, they isolate people, Field of Blood takes a more subtle approach and draws the reader to the story, letting God open their heart to His word. While most of the characters in this book are deeply flawed and struggle with their beliefs, Wilson gives us a couple of awesome and beautiful examples of believers without fear--those who hold the knowledge of Christ and the power of His blood. They are bright and shining lights in an otherwise dark and frightening world. Couple of more thoughts and I'll wrap up. I don't think there is anyway to not mention the tenderness in this rather rough book. The pain of those in a world that's dying and suffering is often times overlooked in an effort to convince people to just believe. The problem is when we ignore their pain, why should they listen. With a market flooded with `perfect' heroes and squeaky clean Christian characters, Wilson gives us a healthy dose of reality. We all struggle, we all hurt, we all cry, and we all need Jesus. Lastly, for anyone who might question the appropriateness of a book which includes vampires and other lore, let me put your mind at ease. There is nothing unbiblical about Field of Blood. From the prologue to the last page, there is a depth to this book that goes well beyond the fictional story being told. There is truth to be seen and there are lessons to be learned. Field of Blood is Christian, but it's not a 400 page sermon. It's realistic and accurate where it should be and pure entertainment where it should be. It's everything you could hope for in a Christian book--something for the lost to contemplate and for the believer to never forget.
I was thinking this was a Christian version of "Twilight" and in some respects it is. For instance, there is the Biblical references and the book does touch on Christian themes and redemption. However, it was not as much as I expected. Still this is a great story - written well and with characters well developed. This book was hard to put down once I started reading it and I can't wait for the sequels to come out. If you're looking for a good read, this is the book for you. If you're looking for Christian fiction, this might not be your cup of tea. Peretti and Dekker fans will like this book, IMO.
I received this book as part of a program being run by Thomas Nelson publishers. Bloggers who register with them can get a free book as long as they agree to blog about it. I thought it would be a good challenge for me to write up a book that I might not otherwise pick up to read, and this is the first one I chose. Let me say that I have not read a lot of Christian fiction--when I look for an adult book, I generally head for the mystery section--so the thought of a Christian vampire book was too intriguing to pass up.
An archaeological dig in Jerusalem disturbs an anicent burial place, allowing a group of demons to inhabit and regenerate the bodies inside. These demons are called Collectors; at one point they refer to the time that the Nazarene (they never refer to Christ by name) expelled them from a man and sent them into pigs which were then drowned, apparently referring to the incident related in Mark 5:09-13. Since then they have been trapped in an incorporeal existence and are rather out of touch with the rest of their kind. (Other demons have survived and since moved to Romania, giving rise to the legend of the vampire.) Demons are able to inhabit and possess any living being--human, animal, or insect--but these particular demons, led by Lord Ariston, are the first to be able to revive the dead.
Meanwhile, a young girl named Gina has been raised by her mother in a very remote part of Romania. Gina's mother, Nikki, is ruled by superstitions and Gina is longing to escape her tight reins and to be seen as an independent young woman, not as a little girl. Then one day a man arrives, a man her mother obviously knows, tells them they are in danger and takes them away. They escape to America, change their names and start their new lives. What Gina does not know, what her mother does not want to tell her, is that Gina is an immortal, the daughter of one of the Nistarim, and as such will always be a target of the Collectors.
The events in the book span great distances in time and space, and it is not always clear when the setting jumps. For example, Gina is hit by a truck; she should have been killed but walks away with barely a scratch. Shortly afterwards, her mother refers to the accident as having been two years ago--but there was little indication that that much time had elapsed; I thought it had been a few weeks at most. I found the references to the Nistarim confusing--I am not familiar with the Talmudic tradition of the Nistarim and had to look it up. I am still not clear on how Gina can be the child of a Nistarim but not a Nistarim herself but her child could be one. When it seems as if Dov, a young orphan boy that Gina takes under her wing, is a Nistarim, it is unclear whether he has always been one from birth or has become one. A framing device, of a person reading a letter marked with four drops of blood, and seeing the memories of different characters through these drops of blood, also raises more questions than it answers, but will most likely be addressed in the future books.
On the other hand, I really liked the image of a Collector's bite creating a thorny vine which grows within the victim and the blood that collects in the thorns being a purer form of blood which they find more nourishing. I also liked that the demons find a single, sometimes petty, vice to exploit in their victims, creating a sense of discontent. (It reminded me of C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, or Peter Cook's devil in the 1967 movie
We are not fighting against humans. We are fighting against forces and authorities and against rulers of darkness and powers in the spiritual world. Ephesians 6:12
With the current popularity of a certain vampire series, bells and whistles sounded in my head when I first read the description of Eric Wilson's Field of Blood. Could there seriously be a "Christian" book about vampires? Would that even work? With my interest piqued, I sat down to read the first few chapters.
As I grew to love the main character Gina Lazarescu, I learned that there is more to her and to her blood that meets the eye. Digging a little deeper I dove into the world of the Collectors and their desperate need to feed their deepest desire. And let's not forget the good guys, the Nistarim who are on the side of the Nazarene. The ultimate fight between good and evil is once again portrayed--Collectors vs. The Ones Who Resist.
There is a constant battle going on around us. A battle for our souls. Will we choose to accept or reject the Nazarene? Will we be ruled by our own selfish needs and desires? Can we see ourselves mirrored in the lives of the Collectors?
From Seattle to Romania and all the places in between, Wilson definitely captured my attention. He does a wonderful job weaving Israel's past with the United State's and Romania's present. His use of quotes from the book of Jude and from Dracula add to the uniqueness of the story.
After a slow start, in the end I did not want to put Field of Blood down. I will anxiously await the 2nd part of this trilogy. My only complaint is that I have to wait till the end of 2009!
Doubly Dead, or Doubly Alive?
With Field of Blood, Eric Wilson delivers another action-packed, yet thought-provoking novel. The content of this novel is not for the faint-hearted. Read with caution, for your very soul is at stake.
The Field of Blood, or in Aramaic, the Akeldama, was the final resting place for Judas Iscariot. Or was it? When a freak accident opens up ancient burial grounds within the Field, an evil unlike any other is unleashed on all the world. Their purpose? To kill, corrupt, and destroy.
Enter Gina Lazarescu. A small, yet strong-willed woman with a shrouded past and a uncertain future. When she uncovers buried secrets about her past, her life is turned upside-down as she learns more about her heritage, and her purpose.
Eric Wilson is truly in his prime with this novel. This is one of the rare novels that, quite literally, had me ripping through the pages as fast as I could. It seemlessly combines elements of the supernatural realm with our physical world, and the result? A novel that reads like the next blockbuster movie, all the while, scintillating with truths that pertain to everyday life. This novel will surely expand his fan base exponentially.
Eric Wilson took on a seemingly insurmountable challenge in writing a Christian vampire novel in the first place. But that wasn¿t the only difficulty with so much advance buzz about the announced Jerusalem¿s Undead trilogy, he ran the risk that, no matter how rich the story, it might not be enough to match the hype. Anticipation is its own kind of monster it often turns on its masters. In the hands of a lesser writer, a lesser researcher and man less acquainted with his scriptures, it might have been a disaster. In the hands of Eric Wilson, it¿s a tour de force. Wilson merges folklore and Biblical theology to effectively bridge the vampire¿s Christian themes with Romanian lore, supplying a long-missing link. In doing so, Wilson has supplied something lacking in the slew of vampire fiction today: originality. In Field of Blood, the undead are founded in the betrayal of Judas Iscariot, who managed to bleed out in the half-botched act of hanging himself, loosing unholy blood on the soil of the Akeldama. While staying true to the bloody death and blood-as-life staples of vampire mythology, Field of Blood offers a new angle on character redemption, new boundaries on the realm of the vampire, and new charges for the anti-vampire protagonist. Wilson introduces an entire cast of undead characters all too deliciously easy to hate including the convicted criminal, Barabbas¿the very man released at the urging of the mob in lieu of the Nazarene, Jesus. My main fascination with Field of Blood, however, is the genius behind the story itself. Having visited Romania and grown up in the church, I was intrigued in a how¿d-he-do-that? kind of way at Wilson¿s weaving together of post-revolution Romania, world news, scripture and Hebrew lore. As a reader, I was delighted. As a writer, I was envious. In breaking the Christian publishing vampire barrier, Wilson has set an incredible bar.