Gemini Ascending

Mark John Terranova

Description

The first in a series for those who wish Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings had never ended! James Montgomery has existed almost as long as the country he lives in. Born at the dawn of the 17th century, he has seen cultures rise and fall, and progress made in every facet of life. After four centuries, James begins a journey that will lead him to his fraternal twin, and together they may hold the key to saving the world and continuing the existence of humanity. John Parella is unaware of the fate handed to him at birth by his father. Believing himself crazy due to the voices in his head, strange recurring dreams, and mental quirks, John is willing to take extreme measures to halt his madness-but these are merely side effects from waiting for his true destiny to reveal itself. Dr. Junger-handsome, mysterious, ageless, and seemingly aligned with many powerful worldwide organizations-works tirelessly to steer James and John toward one another, while Dr. Katherine Duhring, the brilliant young director of psychiatry at the Grant Institute and at one time deeply in love with Dr. Junger, now finds herself becoming his adversary. Book 1: Eternal Twins is the first in this fast-paced, lively, and highly imaginative series!

Sujets

• Philosophie
• Philosophie politique
• Determinism
• Philosophy
• Philosophie et théologie
• Free Will

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 18 septembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781478729082
• Langue: English

Extrait

Gemini Ascending
Book 1: Eternal Twins
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2017 Mark John Terranova
v6.0

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4787-2908-2

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


PREFACE
Gemini Ascending will introduce readers to a series of books written for those who wish Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings never ended. This series will explore the mysteries of the Earth, the Universe and the subsequent power struggles, since the beginning, with exciting transitions between the past and present.
While each book in the series is a work of fiction, the storyline for each book will always be built around: scientific texts, articles and stories collected from key sources (see “Bibliography” and the “Special Section of Pictures” at the end of Book 1).
One source of stories, that will thread throughout the series, came from my father when he worked in Saudi Arabia, off and on, from February 1953 to December 1958. Throughout my childhood, teenage and adult years, I was always intrigued by new pieces of information that my father shared, as I grew older, surrounding the stories of: the punishments for crime, the broken Crane, Special Orders from the Minister, the railcar dinners with the Royal Family, the Parades, the King’s interest in Locomotives, and the beautiful Date Gardens at Hofuf (more to follow in future books).
My science and engineering background along with personal experiences with different cultures and religions around the world has also led me to view the wonders of this World and the Universe in an introspective manner. Sharing such thoughts with the reader, throughout the storyline as it is developed, is a major reason for writing this series.


This series of books is for those who believe there is thoughtful purpose behind the creation of this World and this Universe.



Chapter 1

BORN
Early 1600’s AD, North America
On the edge of darkness, the fading embers of carnelian skies linger in the horizon’s crimson cry, and while drifting tufts of motif clouds wait to unveil another night’s glistening starlight, Bay Moon eyes woo the oceans to sleep, and send its waves gently lapping upon the beach.
MJT


I have been told that the trauma of birth is buried deep within a being’s psyche. Late one September evening, the fire of birth was upon me; my lungs burned for their first breath and the earth pushed hard against my chest, propelling me outward until I was released into cool ocean waters. Completely disoriented, like a new born turtle searching for safety, the moonlight became my beacon to the surface. I remember the starlit sweetness of the night greeting my face when I emerged. As air coursed into my lungs, I became aware of the power within my limbs and the knowledge encoded in my brain.
While I swam toward shore, the water cleansed my body and washed the last vestiges of birth from my long brown hair. Sitting on the beach, my skin blended smoothly into the yellow sand. Severely jaundiced, it would take several days of sunlight to heal me. Millennia had passed since beings of my kind were allowed to walk the face of the earth again; I was honored to be here, and, while I was naked and cold, the soothing night air and the gentle ocean waters that lapped upon the shore were mesmerizing. My affinity with the elements provided a joyous feeling.
Not alarmed by the footsteps that I heard crunching the sand behind me, for the cadence of steps conveyed no stealth or implied menace, I calmly rose to my six foot height, turning to see someone almost like me. He had long black hair, crisp alert brown eyes, an earthen smell, and light red skin surrounded by soft brown leather. Reaching his left hand towards me, with his rough fingers touching my face, I sensed his confusion; my body more than matched the musculature that he had, yet I appeared to be a young boy.
His smell changed an instant before I could react as his left hand grasped my long brown locks, pulling my head back hard while he raised his knife with his other hand. Although my hands quickly grabbed both his wrists, he knew my only weakness, squeezing even harder and pulling the very hair from my head. The pain was unbearable. Close to unconsciousness, abject terror was upon me; the unearthly screams that poured out from me only strengthened his resolve. Much weaker now, breathing slower, I let go of his wrists and looked into his eyes as I gave way to my fate. Tears streamed from my eyes—I was as helpless as any young boy would be under such an attack.
Staring at me until the tears stopped rolling down my cheeks, releasing my hair and sheathing his knife, he pulled me up from the sand and motioned for me to follow him. Further up in the sand dunes, he wrapped me in leather skins that he brought with him and made a fire. Listening to him talk, it was not long before I was able to speak his language, which made him slightly uncomfortable.
He told me that he thought I was an ocean spirit; such beings had come before. Most were evil and had brought death or long periods of pestilence to his village. He had visions of my birth for weeks during his meditations. His mother, a seer, along with the tribe’s shaman had counseled him on the visions, how to determine if I was evil, and how to subdue and kill me if it was necessary—that is how he knew my hair was my weakness.
I asked him what signals I had given that caused him not to kill me. Laughing to himself, “actually,” he said, “you gave me all the signs of evil: a boy with the strength of a man, screams of anguish that shook my spirit, and now the ability to quickly speak my language. These are all the signs. The only thing that saved you was your surrender to death and the pleading look that you gave near the end. Such things are more human; evil would have fought, snarling like a wounded beast to the very end. And that look in your eyes, I saw that same look in my young son’s eyes years ago. He died shortly afterwards; perhaps that is what saved you the most.”
Sensing the need for silence, I waited awhile before I spoke again, asking if he knew where I came from and what I really was. Admitting that he did not know, he suggested that the shaman and maybe even his mother might know. Although I knew the answers to these questions, I did not yet understand my purpose for being here; so, I had more questions to ask, but he suggested that we sleep. It was a long journey back to his village, and he would need his wits to convince the tribe that I was not an evil presence who had gained control of him. Before we slept, he handed me his knife and suggested that I cut all the hair from my head, which I did. If things did not go well at his village, he wanted me to be strong enough to escape his village alive, but he made me promise not to harm anyone if I had to leave.
It did not take long for me to earn the initial trust of the tribe. Seeing a young boy of my size with my strength was alarming, but my poorly shaved head and jaundiced skin conveyed that I was ill, and perhaps somewhat human after all. It took a half moon cycle for my skin to heal and turn light red like theirs. I slept in the tent with my new father figure and his mother. His wife and baby had died in childbirth a few years ago; a little after that his only other child had also died, and he chose never to remarry or speak of these sad events in his life. The deep scars from cuts that he made in his arms conveyed the grief in his soul. Teaching me respect for all life and the love of nature, while also teaching me intelligent, efficient ways to fight and kill, I trained with the alacrity of youth while becoming a fierce warrior and an adept hunter. I liked this life, for it suited my sense of balance and being. It was the purest religion that I would ever know.
I never became sick or suffered the ills of any disease, healing very quickly whether or not my wounds were treated. More often than not though, I would seek out the healing powers and counsel of his mother, for she often talked to me as if I were part of her own family. In my second year with the tribe, we had a conversation that set the course of my life. Severely wounded from a hunt, I limped into her tent and fell on the skins that she had set out. She removed my clothes and slowly cleansed my entire body, rinsing my deep wounds with natural carboxylic acids and rubbing aloe from crushed leaves across all my skin abrasions. Strong tea made from various tree barks and natural flowers revived my spirit.
“You know,” she started, “many young women have asked if they could learn how to heal like I do.”
“Really? That is a compliment to your knowledge of healing; you should be proud.”
She chuckled. “Well, it seems that the renewed interest in healing strongly coincides to your presence in this village. Many of the young women are quite enamored with your beauty, your alluring eyes, your strength, an