This retelling of the origins of the were wolf myth connects it to Western mythology and presents alternate explanations of Western history and cherished beliefs.
Through the narrative, the reader explores how the human soul carries on through vast stretches of time, how nothing really changes between loved ones; and the soul's desire to be reconnected with its source.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.61(d)|
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The Lunar Wolf Chronicles
By Alexander Mescavage, Eunice Taylor
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2013 Alexander Mescavage and Eunice Taylor
All rights reserved.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
~ William Shakespeare
Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men.
At first glance, except for his musculature, he did not seem an especially impressive man. He worked hard to keep up this sense. He stood just less than six feet tall and as a physical type he resembled Jason Statham, the actor. But he could not conceal his panther gait; like a stealthy prime predator. He was said to be "handsome". He tried hard to look like an everyday businessman, banker or professional man. He had olive skin and a shaven head. But unlike many men he seldom showed stubble on his face and head. His eyes were dark brown eyes and he had a Roman nose. His expressive eyes gave the impression of ancient wisdom and that he had seen too much.
His hands were scarred as was much of his body. His dress was always neat; non-wrinkled shirts and sharply pressed pleats. He had a penchant for Jerry Garcia ties and cowboy boots. His rugged presence could somehow seem regal.
He considered himself a soldier given a mission.
He had searched many times before, and this time was just the same as every turning of the earth. There was no sanctuary in death for him. His was an eternity of watching humanity until the end of time. He could only remember the names he took during his more memorable incarnations. He had homes and secret refuges all over the planet.
But, his gift of eternal life came with dire curses. During the days of the full moon, he transformed into a ravenous beast, but retained full consciousness of who he is and memory of every savage thing it had done. The beast was his ultimate weapon against evil. It cursed him with an insatiable hunger for the most forbidden of foods ... human flesh. From the beginning, he only took contemptible criminals who eluded human authority. He feasted only upon the flesh of the most iniquitous. And he pillaged their ill gotten fortunes.
He found his early years contemptible, full of arbitrary slaughter and mistakes learned hard and fast. Anger and despair turned to loneliness. He had watched too many friends and lovers wither and disappear before his ageless eyes. Isolation was crushing until he remembered he had the power of creation as well as destruction.
He had been reluctant to burden another with his own fate. But his forlornness had become crushing. He had impulsively made his first companion. Claudia, in all her imperfections, became a companion and lover. He did it out of mercy for her and to assuage his loneliness. Someone to breach time with, until she wearied of the mission and became disillusioned with mankind. She turned her heart off and her mind wandered far away. Each of others he created and lost became like the unrelenting weight of time stacking stones on his chest.
He was lucky in his confusion and rage to have found, rare refuge with "Daedalus", an immortal of a similar fate. He was of even more ancient origins; a scholar, engineer and scientist and became a mentor. Under this wise tutelage he became an alchemist of sorts. His early lessons had to do with the soul, how the soul needs to understand itself and exorcise its own demons.
In the years prior to meeting Daedalus, he hated himself. He had come to think of himself as only the monster. The three day spree of death and destruction was laced with the thrill of killing, hunting and vengeance. He was at once sickened and plagued by his actions but compelled onward in a relentless spiral. Daedalus nurtured the man in him and gave him a model for one who survives at all costs and still finds ways to serve humanity. Daedalus showed him that he was more than just the wolf. Daedalus touched his soul and set him on a course of higher learning and spiritualism.
In most lifetimes he was a merchant. But at the times he was a mercenary, pirate and a raider. There were many wars. And wars provided plunder. As a result, he created secret caches of wealth. Wealth became a weapon; riches gave him freedom.
Each time" The Cabal" as he called them was behind him, laying in wait to capture him. Over the millennia they had been known as The Mysteries, the Ancient Order of the Hierophants or the Rose-Croix, Freemasons or Opus Dei. Their aim was absolute and their intentions evil. Capturing him was one of their many goals. Once the Cabal's leader had realized who he was pursuing, the organization's aim became to find her as well. For them it was impossible, so they tracked and watched him instead.
Now they used his wife as bait against him. She was also the only distraction from his primary mission. They had tried to ensnare him years before. He had not taken the bait. He had grown weary and restless with the world feeling as if his very soul would break. He missed her with a longing that he could not reconcile with sense or reason. She was gone again, because of his failure. He would have to find her, wait and find her over and over. He had lived for more years than he cared to count, changed names and locations.
But, unless he attacked them, they could not find him. Elusive as a shadow, he evaded their leader and his many tendrils. His wolf was created to terminate their leader and to negate their plans. From ancient days their strategy was to cause dissent by pitting people against each other. Whenever one nation persecuted and enslaved another he knew the Cabal was behind it. Their merciless, inhuman leader delighted in setting men against women and fostered rape and brutality against women. Where the worst abuses were, he could find their nefarious leader. He had many scores to settle with that singular shade.
Moving his eyes over his books and papers within his vast library, he remembered having saved the scrolls. Some were spoils of wars long forgotten. Some saved in the fire that destroyed the Library in Alexandria. His eyes lingered on his personal copy of 'Cotton Vitellius'. This famous manuscript containing an epic poem based on his adventures in the 8th century. He had taken a Viking woman as his companion and had lands in the Hinterlands and in Geatland. He was considered to be a sacred warrior by the Vikings.
Eyeing this manuscript he is taken back some 900 years, to the wild hills of what is now England. The horror and alienation had caused his Geat companion's mind to abandon her. A cold winter hard on cattle and women had kept him in the Nordic great hall for many months. Until he heard a calling as if fine music was just out of hearing summoning him to the shores of East Anglia. This pulling left him with strange feelings of despair and the heights of passionate love. He could feel a drawing from the rocky shores of Lochlanach. He followed the call and abandoned all to find her. He had searched, but found only her body wrapped in white linen wild flowers in her hair. She had died in childbirth along with the tiny infant at her side. Each time he came closer and closer to finding her.
He had learned how to soul travel. These were teachings of ancient time only mentioned now in searing epics and scholarly journals. In subterranean chambers, he learned to separate body and soul and set out on journeys for extended periods. He slowly learned some of the arts of controlling elements, space and time. With his new found skills he made his way around Europe, finally settling with a community of Medieval Spanish Jews.
He took the name "Melchizedek" and joined an early community of Qabbalists. His association with them lasted almost 120 years. He plumbed the depths and breadth of these teachings, finding secret codes within early Hebrew texts; leaving his impressions on the movement from the beginning. It was whispered that he knew how to summon the Golem.
But the greatest lessons he learned from Qaballah, were that he received only to share with others and that mercy had to be tempered by justice. The wolf had to take, but only as a means to serve the greater good. And that sometimes acts of loving kindness and charity had to take the savage form of bloodily annihilating those who dominate the powerless. Sir George had to become a saint only by slaying the rapacious dragon. He believed that the defender meting out justice to oppressors above human laws was equal to any saint.
As time went on, he became a scientist and engineer, adapting to the culture of the day. Modern science and medicine gave him hope for humanity that perhaps they could change from bewildered children to rational adults. He had been a physician in many of his identities and found freeing the sick from the slavery of illness nourished his soul.
Over the centuries, he worked behind the scenes advancing causes of human freedom and dignity. He was active in many of the events that changed history for the advancement of humanity.
He was at the signing of the Magna Carta; a witness to the signing of Brother Aymeric, Master Knight Templar. He attended the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and paid the massive bar tab that was presented after the deliberations were over. In France he financed the Revolution, arming the just citizens and organizing groups setting up community kitchens and work programs. He had advocated against the genocide of American Indians. He had been part of the Underground Railroad; ushering escaped slaves to the north and financing many of their home based businesses. When the Nazis moved their vile hands across most of Europe; he secreted thousands of Jews out of Nazi dominated countries. He was in Selma, Alabama facing the dogs, hoses and nightsticks.
And in his current sojourn though time, he became a Doctor of Clinical and Neurological Psychology. He needed more freedom and being a modern physician was too all consuming. He had seen over the past hundreds of years that the mentally ill were the least understood of the afflicted. They were misjudged, feared, and isolated in asylums; treated worst than cattle. In ancient times, it was easy to call them "witches" or say that they were "possessed". Later they had been the subjects of scorn and entertainment or hidden away from wealthy families who knew nothing about mental illness. In the early twentieth century, in many of the large state run hospitals of they were treated like servants by the staff.
Their situation had gotten better over the past forty years, but most societies still shun those who are psychiatrically impaired. They are stripped of their independence and ability to make decisions governing their own lives. He knew that many of the people the Cabal persecuted they labeled "mentally ill"; and then, locked them away in hospitals that became their prisons and torture chambers. And that they were always under the treatment of corrupt men who only served the Cabal in private sections of reputable institutions.
He had to act alone. His situation was so incredible that to reveal what he is and the corruption was likely to label him as psychotic. He could only trust his instincts and flashes of insight to lead him to the Cabal's victims. He scoured the news media for suspicious items. And he knew that when he found where groups of subjugated women were mysteriously disappearing, he would find the Cabal's head. And where the leader was, she would be.
News articles and professional journals alerted him to the surprising resurgence of prefrontal lobotomies among young female schizophrenic patients at Creedmoor Hospital in the rural Mt. Summit. Oddly, no male patients were treated. This is an old and extreme procedure rarely used today because it destroys brain tissue.
The results seemed impressive, but many questions remained. There were concerns about data collection and the criteria for surgical selection. The professional journals indicated the need for psychological evaluations to determine the efficacy of expanding treatment. His instincts and auguries screamed that evil was behind this.
Soon, he had secured a professorship in the Psychology Department of nearby State University as a teacher and clinical researcher. The position came with an appointment to the professional staff at Creedmoor Hospital tasking him with pre and post evaluations of surgery candidates. He soon found that the surgeon in charge of the project was blocking thorough piles of paperwork the flow of information and statistics. He was taking advantage of the bureaucratic system to conceal his actions. He hid that many of the candidates died pre treatment. These deaths were falsely documented. The psychologist came upon convenient and ludicrous explanations. But these were medical procedures, and he was not a licensed physician, so his professional hands were tied.
Therefore, he began his investigation. The skills he had acquired over the millennia allowed him to easily gain access into secret areas of patients designated for surgery. He found that the women were always vulnerable wives of rich men who all belonged to a particular extreme congregation. There were terrible signs of physical abuse on their bodies. He found the terrified eyes of women who had been brutalized. Most would not speak to him, but he could feel and smell the fear emanating from them. There was an unusually high rate of pre-surgery suicides. Their bodies were promptly cremated and could not be examined. No autopsies meant there was no evidence.
The psychiatric surgeon who originated the project covered his tracks in the medical records, with the professional organization of the hospital and the state's medical board. The psychologist was the outsider. He found his hands tied again.
But, the wolf could not be denied.CHAPTER 2
Yeah, a storm is threatening My very life today If I don't get some shelter Lord, I'm gonna fade away
Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter 1971
It may have only been a dream, the faintest knowledge of someone watching me as I slept. I woke with a start feeling as if someone was in the room. I leaned over and switched on the light and pulled the white down comforter up around my breasts. I scanned the room, everything was in its place, the window was open and the crème colored sheers that framed the windows fluttered with the warm summer breeze. I could hear the chorus of tree frogs outside in the grass and ponds. I switched the light back off and turned over. I tossed and turned thinking about what was to happen tomorrow. The valium had made me fall asleep, he had given it to me – insisted that I was not right in the head – that I must sleep, and that tomorrow he was sending me away.
Morning came faster than I thought it would. The breaking of night into day was not soft or pleasant it came with a ringing in my head and eyes that felt dry. He knocked hard three times on the door, I could feel how his knuckles must have felt hitting the painted wood so hard. I sat up and said "Yeah".
My bag had already been packed; all I needed to do was change clothes and head down stairs. There would be three men that would take me, two orderlies and the Chief of Staff, who was my husband's drinking buddy. He would be gone already, so there would be no goodbyes. I dressed - a plain white dress and a light sweater over my shoulders, white shoes and then pinned my hair up and grabbed my case.
The men were waiting for me; one of the orderlies took my case and put it in the side of the ambulance. The other one introduced himself as Dr. Sterling. He explained that in order for us to have a nice ride to the hospital I would be required to have an injection, something that would calm me down. I felt fairly calm already I told them, he smiled and shook his head as the orderlies grabbed both my arms, the doctor administered the shot. It took a few moments, but I wasn't asleep as much as I was extraordinarily sedate. My eyes wanted to close, and my body went limp. The orderlies lifted me up and placed me on a gurney and loaded me into the back of the ambulance. The doctor would ride in the front seat with the driver the two orderlies sat in the back with me.
Because I was so sedate, and my body felt heavy, thick and weak, I could only make out fragments of what the orderlies were saying to each other. Something about my white dress, the way my breasts were cresting at the top and would jiggle as the ambulance moved over the road. This made me terribly worried and frightened at first. I looked at their hands as they sat alongside of me, thick work worn hands with thick calluses. Their uniforms were crisp white, shoes polished to a high sheen black. The drug the doctor gave me for the ride seemed to only immobilize my body, my mind was fine and I was slightly sleepy.
Excerpted from The Lunar Wolf Chronicles by Alexander Mescavage, Eunice Taylor. Copyright © 2013 Alexander Mescavage and Eunice Taylor. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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Table of Contents
1 Lupo Mannaro, 1,
2 Asylum, 9,
3 What Passes for Treatment, 19,
4 Blood Moon, 31,
5 A Big Bowl of Beef Chow Mein, 41,
6 Free in the Woods, 51,
7 Ghosts in the Darkness, 57,
8 All Hell Breaks Loose, 63,
9 Refuge, 73,
10 Two Dreams, 81,
11 Meat is Murder, 85,
12 Questions and Answers, 93,
13 All Roads Lead to Rome, 101,
14 The Sabine Women, 109,
15 The Feast of Neptune, 115,
16 The Fullness of Life, 129,
17 The Invasion, 135,
18 The Field of Mars, 141,
19 A Tale's End, 147,
20 Beautiful Dreamers, 153,
21 Dark Rider, 167,
22 Off to See the Wizard, 181,
23 One the Way Back Home, 193,
24 A Meeting of the Minds, 199,
25 Disguises, 207,
26 The Way of the Hand and Blade, 221,
27 The Gathering Storm, 227,
28 Hunter's Moon, 235,
29 The Hare Shem Tov, 241,
30 The Waning Moon, 249,
Epilogue Entering the Borough of Brooklyn Fugheddaboutit, 255,
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This book is simply amazing!! Alexander Mescavage and Eunice Taylor Beauchman are genius. I have also read another book by them called The Lunar Wolf Chronicles, Mary's Tale and it is a must read!! The Angry Man and the Weaver ties into Western Mythology and addresses different explanations of Western history and beliefs. If you are a fan of the Western culture and beliefs this would be a very interesting book to read!! Once again I must complement these two authors!! Just genius they are!