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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466974784 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/30/2013 |
| Pages: | 196 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.45(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Prophecies of Blood
By Robert S. Law
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2013 Robert S. LawAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-7478-4
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Pub Gathering
On a warm and sunny summer afternoon in a busy metropolitan town, whose name is of no consequence, lies a quiet public house known as the Aged Church. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, a passer-by would hardly notice a mysterious young stranger, wearing a long black hooded trench coat, stride confidently through the welcoming doors of the public house and sit down in a dark, cold, and uninviting part of the establishment. His hood remained raised with his face hidden.
It was not raining outside; on the contrary, it was irritatingly hot. Yet the mysterious man kept his hooded trench coat wrapped round him like a moth entrapped in a cocoon. He seemed out of place, yet his cold characteristics made him appear oblivious to any peer conformities to which it may be thought he should stand for. He did not fit in with any known fashion statement of the modern day such as gothic or emo: he had his own unique style that carried with it suggestions of confident darkness and powerless attraction ... a dangerous combination for such a mysterious person. He could have been mistaken for a thief doing some homework by casing the joint for surveillance equipment and escape routes, perhaps even possibly a sexual predator sniffing out his next victim to pounce on.
The left-side chest pocket and back of his coat had matching emblems, which looked like a fusion between the symbol of the triquetra and that of a traditional and medieval family crest. There also seemed to be a name, but the creases of the coat obscured it like the illusion of a magician waiting to be revealed: from every angle the writing was kept secret and veiled. The cut of his coat did not fit with the label of any known manufacturer, so it might have been of personal design. His clothes in general seemed to be very outdated for such modern-type fashions of today. It looked as though he either was attending a play dressed as a cast member or was going to a fancy-dress party. Either way, it was far too hot to be wearing so many heavy and dark layers.
The public house was relatively large in construction and was rather contemporary looking on the outside, but it was like another world within. It had been rebuilt a few times over the centuries, keeping up with the more modern materials. However, at this moment in time, it was very rustic and stony walled; it looked like an old shooting lodge from the late Tudor times. It had very high ceilings with warped and cracked rafters spread evenly throughout. The walls were partially wooden with upright tongue and groove-like boards. The decorative plaster wall engravings were all heavily worn. There was no plasterboard in sight, only the crumbling wattle and daub of the past. There were areas within that had been repaired badly. It's exposed areas of decaying hazel within; it looked as though hair was used as reinforcement with the smell of lime coming from what could be used as the binding material. On a hot day, the smell of blood or urine may even be smelt coming from it. It was, however, a public house; and brawls through drunkenness or accidents happen every once in a while.
There were some areas within that had been modernised in the early Victorian manner with terracotta brickwork. The layers were eroding through due to the modern pollutions in the world. The exposed areas were a mix of stone and brick in and around structural points as well as the grand fireplace. That, however, looked like it was the last time any renovation had been undertaken. The public house had been built on the site of an old church that had been destroyed during the war. The church was believed to be centuries old before its destruction, hence the establishment being aptly named the Aged Church in a tribute to the previously erected dwelling.
The brick and structural building work of the pub was obvious, that its inspiration was from many different eras in time and from many different countries.
There was very little left to commemorate or reminisce over the previous purpose of the building, with only small, scattered pews randomly placed along the walls. The stained-glass depictions from the Bible had been replaced with a darker, more contemporary style of design, restricting the amount of daylight that actually shone through.
The site of the bar itself stood at the end of the building that would have been the location of the church's altar. Some of the original stonework was still used in its construction. Stone slabs with names inscribed for flooring, as if they were entrances to crypts and final resting places. Its traditional beauty marvelled with expert craftsmanship of the countless centuries it's stood.
It was a sanctuary for many a thirsty mouth, whom required a sociable rest from the turmoils of their day-to-day activities.
However, the public house's influence, it was not British. It was in fact Eastern European. It had a comically strict consumption rule of two cans minimum, a two jerry cans to be more precise, to keep the punters in and the cash register ringing.
The mysterious and isolated pariah did not order anything to eat or drink but just sat and listened to his surroundings. It was so quiet; the only sound was of the heartbeats of all the other patrons before their conversations began. He sat patiently at his table and started listening in to stories of old and legends of a time many moons ago when many people lost their lives. These stories he listened to with great intent and were the greatest war stories of all: tales of such determination and sleazy revelation that they would make the Bible look like a child's bedtime fairy tale.
This seemed to get the uncharacteristic visitor interested, and he listened harder still without actually interfering in the ever more intriguing legend told by an old man in his later years. Not unlike the stranger, many other customers in the Aged Church were intrigued by the story. They began to gather round in amazement. Word of these stories stretched to people passing by outside, and it slowly drew them in to hear more.
Once the old man had finished the story, before anyone could leave the swarming huddle, the mysterious man lowered his hood and established himself to be integrated with the crowd. He blurted out before the crowd disbanded, "I have an intriguing tale that I wish to share, so please, if you wouldn't mind reclaiming your positions." Some initially ignored him, but then curiosity got the better of them, and they returned to the positions they had previously taken up. He had opened himself up from the cocoon he had seemed to have put himself in. He did all this without giving away a name before captivating them with another tale of honour, balance, and destiny.
His features were now on show; his skin was pale and cold looking. His hair was ginger, but with a brush of his hands over it, it turned the whitest of blond, as if the ginger was merely dirt from the hood, which he brushed off. His eyes were hidden behind pink-lens spectacles. He looked ill, and members of the crowd firstly began to comment amongst themselves of the fact that he needed to be in a hospital and not the coldest part of a public house. However, they stayed, intrigued to hear his next words.
"You look a little pale, sir, are you feeling okay?" inquired a curious Samaritan that had picked up on these potential health issues.
"I am very well, thank you for asking," said the mysterious man.
After the shuffling of seats around him had momentarily stopped, he began by picking on an audience member. He asked him, "What is the opposite of good?" The reply he got was "evil." Then he said, "Most things have an opposite or an equal to balance the world, for example," he said. "If there is a heaven, then there must be a hell, no?" The crowd member agreed with that notion. "If there are angels and a god, then demons and Satan must also be real?" he proclaimed. "If someone is human, then can someone be inhuman also?" he asked the eager listeners.
The man chosen to respond said, "No, you can only be one or the other and not both."
"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," regaled the talker. "What if you can be both and off balance the equilibrium by moving the fulcrum to survival?" he said. "I put it to you, the audience, what would you call the dictator and tyrant Adolf Hitler?"
Some replied "evil," and others replied "inhuman for his actions on people."
"Ah, but was he not also a man of great artistic talent?" said the storyteller.
"Did he not strive for his idea of perfection, to create the perfect race," he followed.
"How about those who choose cosmetic surgery to turn back the clocks?" said the inquisitor. "Is that not striving for perfection?" he added.
"But perfection is full of flaws." Finally, he ended with, "If there is day, then night or light and dark must be forces of nature in this balance?"
"If you want, follow me, and I'll lead you on a journey inside a true tale of reality in its darkest days. If you don't, then I won't be put off by your lack of intrigue," he captivated. "Why would I bother talking, if nobody's listening," he said.
His story, like the old man before him, had a great war theme too. It was of an unknown world shared between the different species of the food chain. A battle connecting the forces of good and evil in the world that was oblivious to most normal everyday people. Those who knew were too scared to share this fear in the whole world as it would create mass carnage and an exodus of countries running in fear. However, they would be willing to fight and protect to save many innocent lives. Even the people in the crowd that had a slight knowledge of what he was claiming seemed to be intrigued enough to listen. A reminiscence, perhaps, of the good and bad times.
The stranger started his tale by setting the scene, hundreds of years ago when it all began. He proclaimed that in most legends, past and present, there are so-called beasts feared by many. Some urban legends about strange creatures in the night are usually based on scare tactics designed to frighten people and wreak havoc on others gullible enough to believe. Halloween myths for the younger generation, for instance. The crowded huddle was glued to his every word as though they were in an unbreakable trance. He was looked upon like a solo actor reciting his words in a grand auditorium.
"Folklore and mythology," he began again, "is traditionally about tales passed down from generation to generation." His captive audience all nodded their heads in agreement with his deliberation.
CHAPTER 2
Explanations of Old
He explained that he was talking specifically about the vampire species and asked them what they thought a vampire would be if not just an urban legend or folklore. He tried to get his enthralled audience to permit the notion that there is more than just good on earth and that a balance of evil must be present in order for the equilibrium to remain. Without life, there could be no death. If there was a god whose son had walked the planet, then a son of the devil must too walk or has walked amongst men.
"There were and have always been certain demonic breeds created long before vampires re-evolved. None of which however had such a contagious or hereditary effect as strong as vampirism. They, to this day, hide as a weaker species amongst us," he explained.
"Do you wish for me to continue?" he asked his crowd. "What beliefs do you have in the existence of vampires?" he regaled. "If you are here to listen to my tale about the relation of the vampire and the mortal humans throughout time, I shall continue," he gasped. "If not, then thank you for your patience," he said to the few still standing.
"If Satan can convince humanity that he did not exist, then you will not notice him when he orders the attacks, for you will be looking in the wrong place at the right time. I too can convince you, my audience, that I am also not immortal. If you stick around long enough to hear me out," said the speaker.
"Do any of you believe that a vampire is more than just a schizophrenic reality of human mortality? That a vampire is as real as you or I?" he claimed.
He continued by saying that for many hundreds of years, vampires have hidden in darkness and prowled in the shadows like rabid foxes scavenging for food. He reminded his listeners that a vampire is a soulless or undead corpse that awakens from its place of rest. This place is traditionally in the form of a coffin and after sundown, when the world is full only of dark skies.
"Only humans can be transformed into vampires upon their own mortal death, if bitten by one," he said. "The most feared death of all that is caused only by the bite of another vampire, like a transmittable and incurable disease. If, however, a vampire draws all of its victim's blood, then there is no returning from certain death. It must leave a little, but not enough for a human to continue living, to be turned. A vampire would then offer their victim a taste of their blood. A vampire can choose to kill or turn its prey," he proclaimed. "If a vampire just bites its victim and feeds for a short time, the vampire is linked telepathically with its victim and will later return to finish them off," he added.
"Vampires are purely minions of the race, mere predators that are slightly lower in the pecking order over its higher, more powerful, and born counterparts," the speaker emphasised. "Their only advantage being they can be produced quicker than any born," he relayed.
"It is thought they take blood as it is seen as the essence of life that flows in living things. As vampires are dead, they do not carry this essence anymore, so they steal from the living. It is believed that a vampire cannot remain at rest like the mortal dead and must continue to feed on the living for an immortal life. It can only attack the living during the night and must rest during the day. It must be somewhere sealed off from the grasp of the sun's light," the speaker claimed. He filled the audience with reams of information, and they seemed to understand and agree with his every word.
"It is widely believed that a vampire is repelled by such things like crucifixes and sunlight. Decapitation of the head and severe burning are also effective in killing one. In the beginning, when vampires were first thought of as a threat, a stake through the heart was thought to be the only known weapon that would completely destroy the body as well as the evil soul of a vampire," he continued. "It is also feared that a werewolf can kill a vampire with a single bite to the carotid artery," he added. "The minion vampires cannot take the poison coursing through their veins in yet a further transformation whereas other breeds can withstand it and survive," he added.
"I have plenty of garlic at home, and they don't like that, or so I've heard?" said a smug voice of a listener.
"That I'm afraid is yet another old wives' tale, and it is totally untrue. It is only that a vampire has heightened senses and does not like the smell. They could happily avoid it by switching off that sense to heighten another. How many people here like yeast-based breakfast spread on their toast? I know I don't!" he said.
Once the crowd all announced if they did or did not like the breakfast spread, the cloaked stranger paused for breath and slowly let his piercing eyes travel over his captured audience: he could tell from their expressions that his tale was being received well. He covertly licked his lips and felt himself smile from within; inhaling deeply, he chose his next words carefully and continued.
"A vampire's strength is believed to be so powerful that even the strongest of people in the world cannot defeat one without weaponry. Many vampires may not look strong in the muscular definition of the word, but they have very fast movements and almost automatic reflexes. The elite vampires can run after their prey with the speed and nimbleness of the wind in a fierce storm. They can also levitate or fly short distances with ease. You may walk down the street at night and might not even know there is one above you in the sky. Only those who have witnessed the wrath of a vampire first-hand can prove the truth ... but may you forever hope that none of you here today have that intimate pleasure," he claimed.
"A vampire tends to aim its bite for the neck as it is the most accessible point on the human body with a strong pulse, ensuring a large helping of blood from its victim. Bites on any other part of the body are usually more for pleasure than survival. Usually for torturing its prey or erotic pleasures between two or more vampires." He reminded the crowd that no matter where the bite's location, the transformation would still occur if the attacking vampire shares their blood.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Prophecies of Blood by Robert S. Law. Copyright © 2013 by Robert S. Law. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Prologue.................... ix
Chapter One: The Pub Gathering.................... 1
Chapter Two: Explanations of Old.................... 7
Chapter Three: Origins of Life and Death.................... 19
Chapter Four: From Birth to Young Adulthood—That First Legal Pint!......... 46
Chapter Five: The Trials.................... 64
Chapter Six: The Truth Unfolds.................... 87
Chapter Seven: The Real Prophecy Begins.................... 98
Chapter Eight: The Ultimate Prize.................... 108
Chapter Nine: Auld Family Reunion.................... 118
Chapter Ten: Hunting for the Book of Prophecies.................... 133
Chapter Eleven: War of the Species.................... 147
Chapter Twelve: Last Orders.................... 159
Epilogue: Closing Time.................... 175