Scrolls of the Prophet

  Book I

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  Knights of the Realm

  “As your father has taken my child...I shall the also in turn take each of you...these are my words...and it shall surely come to pass—on either your day of manhood-ceremony...or upon that of a young woman’s promise..!” The new angel of death—Hassani the assassin—spoke out in cast vengeance as he held the great sword of "Palmyra" high in the air with one hand, while he pointed out with furious intent from the fingers of his other...

  In a final feat of exasperation...he then turned his back to the sea of young faces and lowered the blade to his side...Within a slow...steadied pace...and no second-thought given...Master Hassani—the newly christened scourge of the kingdom—walked out beneath the high-arched grand front hall entryway to re-greet the day...

  None among the king’s personal guards had even dared to raise a weapon against him...for all knew in their hearts and through their set of life xperiences that Hassani wasn't a man to be trifled with...and also...the greatest swordsman in the land...

  Since the forging of that mighty sword...the kingdom of "Palmyra" had known much strife...Persian armies had invaded their lands more than twice... and they waisted no time as they laid waste to the place...Hassani...meanwhile...he had fled from the kingdom...but not from his promise...It’s said that he had returned more than thirty-six times...and upon each of his visits...he made claim to the heads of the king’s oldest children...

  And it had also been said that those few heirs who still remained unscathed and alive...they had either refused all of their offers of promise or disappeared from the region completely...they were running scared and scattered to the winds...But still...young master...do mark my words true—you’ll hear more of their fates on the turn of some-day...for "Hassani the assassin" and his..."daggers of death"...they have not forgotten their curse upon those children and shall not forget you...nor do they forgive..."

  “So now...my young master..,” Sir Milo said as he flashed a weary grin, “you now know the tale of your new friend in tender and his sword of "Palmyra"...and why the great Master himself will not be diswayed or side-skirted in his mission to retrieve it one-day...”

  He ended the story with a smile full of wisdom and warning to me that he said I really must heed...

  “Well..,” he asked, “what do you think...my young friend..?”

  I rose from the girl’s new burial-pit and gave him a face that was cast full of seriousness, and a little reflective.

  “I think...great Master...Milo...you do tell the story exceptionally well...and it shall be of great interest to me to now look upon the sword of "Palmyra" in the a pit of fresh wisdom and in the much brighter light of this on-coming day..,” my voice was soft given, but certain in its sway.

  “That you shall...young master...Tav...that you shall..,” he replied, his voice matched my own tone with an added touch of sarcasm.

  With the strength of one well-trained in the verse, he sprang from his knees and offered out his hand to help me lower the girl into her display of hallow resting place, but then paused for a second to convey another thought.

  “Just a moment...young master..,” he said, before whistling out loud with a sharp parse to his lips.

  I was startled at first, well, until I heard the now more familiar sound of a "nae" which was given by Alfie his horse of no humps, this as the creature made its approach from within the new dawn, tan-body against the growing crest of sunrise. With nimble fingers put to action, Milo then pulled a bright silk-square from his pocket and tossed it over toward me. Without ceremony, he then hopped from his seat at the edge of the pit and moved over to make his stand at the foot of the beast.

  I bent down with quiet care and transferred the dark burgundy cloth from the ground and placed it softly on the top of the girl’s still, pale face.

  “Here you are...young master..,” Milo called after, as he offered forth with a new length of white-satin. “I bartered this fine-silk from a nearby caravan-vendor for the meager sum of two-shekels...but for this young girl here...for the sake of her innocence...it shall serve as a fine shroud...”

  “Thank you...fine master..,” I said, humbled. Then I unfolded the fabric and carefully draped it over the full length of her form.

  With my thoughts swirling from the weight of it all, I put shovel-to-sand and began filling up the pit. I started at her feet so it would't be so dramatic, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Master Milo make an interesting gesture—his fingers moving from brow to chest, then crossing at the center.

  He had made the symbol of Great Master Tancred’s standard.

  “What is it you just did in the air...Master Milo..?” I asked.

  “It is the sign of the cross..,” he said. “The same holy symbol you see here on my tunic...cloak...and my shield...this is the reveal of our oath under god...”

  He pointed to the bold, angular cross-stitched icons on the beast’s cover of cloth.

  I found it funny—this man of full years, a seasoned knight who had named his steed with the call of a child...but I understood it..."If I were to have such a beast of my own...a beast of my tender...preferrably one with humps...I too would take the time to more appropriately name it..."

  “Master Milo...is there more meaning behind such an icon...?” I asked.

  “Why...young master...Tav..,” he said, and added in a chuckle...“I thought that surely a boy of your experience and standing would have heard of that glorious story by now—the true tell of our god...the one who cannot be seen...The golden child...his beloved son...and the unfortunate one who was put to a cross for the salvation of all our souls...”

  “I do not believe I have heard of such a tale...master...would you consider its offering or to tell it to me now..?”

  My voice brimmed with eagerness. After all, Master Milo was a fantastic storyteller—and in my heart-of-hearts I wondered: "could this tale even rival that of Hassani and the great sword of "Palmyra"..?"

  Temptation sparkled in my eyes as I looked at him graciously, and I hoped to draw him in for the length of one more story telling.

  But his face turned to thought, and his answer came briskly, and then somewhat firmly...

  “Perhaps another time...young master...Tav...the new day is near and we should finish these burials before I...I mean..."we"...make ready our return to the caravan—don’t you think..?”

  “Yes...yes...of course...Master Milo..,” I pleaded, my heart at a swelter while I snapped my agreement.

  With a sense of new purpose, I moved on to the first of the remaining boys out before us. And while amid all the story-telling and emotion, I had almost forgotten the terms of my original mission: to seek out Great Master Tancred and find his place along the "King’s Highway".

  As I dug on, my mind turned to the parchment scroll which I still held safely tucked inside the pocket of my knap, and to the iron spear-tip which I now believed fit in the velvet cutout of that strewn broken box. I rose up from my position and retrieved the square box of wood with its internal indentation, and returned it to the bulk of my currently wrapped load. With the spear-tip, box and lid, now all in my possession, I began to wonder if I might have a larger barter, not just for just a meager seven silver-shekels, but more likely for the greater sum of ten. "Surely...such a fine scroll that of "Enoch"...and the mysterious weapon-end and its interior lined box must carry set value—for if not to Master Tancred...then perhaps to another pilgrim or traveler that we might greet along the way..."

  And if all else failed, maybe someone out there could decipher the strange scribling on the box lid, the staff, or the spear-tip itself, could reveal their true meaning.

  “So Master Milo...” I asked as I watched him now feed his hump-less camel a handful of green-apples, “what do you think is the reason for Hassani the assassin's appearance around here..? Could one of the king’s children be hiding in these parts..?”

  “Well...young master..” Milo began, “once the assassin had killed the king of Palmyra...he could no longer remain at the palacein peace...left without a home...property...or the love of his princess...the swordmaster fled from the Assyrian lands...and on his departure...he visited a few loyalists—men which he knew could be truely trusted...the whole entire group eventually became bandits...thieves...and cruel robbers...A dangerous lot...both brazen and bloodthirsty... You can tell by what they leave in their wake—they don’t hesitate to kill women and small children when they plunder about..."

  He said it with conviction, his brows lifted high.

  “There’s no doubt in that...Master..,” I replied, not daring to question his words.

  The knight looked over at me with a kind, watchful eye as he fed Alfy the last plump green-apple from his hand. I paused only briefly, then let the boy's body lower and rest where it lay, before then moving on to dig the final burial pit for the body of his brother.

  “Eventually..,” Milo continued, “the "King’s Highway" became the best route for trade...travel...and for pilgrimage throughout the "Holy Land"...and it attracted all manner of travelers..: pilgrims...vendors...nobles...and of course...bandits, thugs, and assassins...That...my young friend...is why our forces have come here...”

  He reached for his water-skin and took a big drink, then wiped his mouth with satisfaction with the back of his sleeve...

  Milo spoke: “With so much traffic and so many goods at flow...both nobles and peasants alike are crying out for protection...religious sites...holy relics...and economic strongholds...they are all at stake...The mighty kings of these lands have called for every foreign knight in the realm to honor with their pledges and help secure the peace—and ensure that the flow of money also moves without theft along the length of the "Kings Highway"...

  Just leave your...silver...gold bar...and bags of raw bullion...or coinage...at the guide of one post..,” he explained with a grin, “and we’ll give you the same amount at the other end of your travels...guaranteed of course...if you pay a small tax-fee or binder for just such security...And make no mistake...my friend—our "Great Master Tancred"...he not only values the people for their fine worth...and their virtue...but he also will never pass up on a good gifted fee...when bartered or tendered..!”

  His eyes sparkled at the line, though his tone remained serious.

  “In guarding a safe passage along the "King’s Highway" of travel...we’ve come across many a herdsman or hardened criminal along the way—most are not as dangerous as Hassani himself...And several of these tyrants have died at the ends of our swords...But unfortunately...Hassani moves like a snake...A serpent of the sands...Hard to catch...and even harder to kill...I’d wager his desert spies have already passed the word of our position in standing...we'd be considered as quite the prize while we travel these parts—and that’s likely to be just what’s brought the snake out from under his rock and hiding...”

  The knight finished his thoughts with a furrowed brow and a more steadied face.

  To me, Master Milo had made perfect sense. It was clear that these knights of the realm—he and "Sir Tancred", with their bold red-crosses in view—were men of high morals and unshakable discipline. I imagined them with a newly found awe, like bulls in the thick of battle, the ones who held fast against the wikedness of their foes and unjust battle rivals, or for the sake of both peasant and noble alike. These men were definitely worthy of my greatest respect.

  As the first arrival of the pre-dawn mist began to pattern on the horizon, I finished the last of the childs' burial pits with a sense of relief. We each placed a colored square of soft cloth over the boys’ childish-faces and then carefully lowered them into the ground.

  After more labor with the shovel, I gave the soil a final pat, pat, pat, and then sent them off with final words of good faith:

  I began, “May the "Heavenly Father" take you and hold you...ashes-to-ashes...dust-to-dust...return to the "Holy Earthly Mother...for she had first brought you..”

  With a new-found reverence, I made the crossing sign as Master Milo had taught me.

  Looking up, I caught sight of the knight who now stood beside his tall horse, Alfy... He adjusted the straps of his chain-mail back in place—a heavy suit, no doubt, but one he wore as naturally as the skin of his body. I, in turn, then moved on to my own belongings that were secured atop Alfy’s back. My knapsack sat there tied, its long silken-sheet bundled inside with the "Sword of Palmyra", the ancient staff for just walking, and the shiny, sharp spear-head inside of its box.

  Sir Milo’s eyes caught mine, and we both grinned. With mock seriousness, I tossed his shovel back in his general direction, it mirrored the way he’d done it to me from before.

  “Maybe next time...Great Master...you could lend out more help with the labors of the dig..!” I called out between huffs of my breath as sweat dripped from every limb I possessed.

  “Somebody has to tell the stories...young master..!” he laughed right back at me, and then added with sarcasm tied to a wink, “First lesson you must learn about time spent with the knights is: that all the yak droppings after having been excreted...must first roll down-hill from their pile upon cleaning...”

  At first, I thought the saying quite odd, but then, when I pictured the sight—the roundness of the droppings, and the way they’d surely tumble down from the slope—well I gave it a full-grimace from my shared understanding.

  It made perfect sense...

  Still smiling.., I turned my face to the horizon and began walking with one foot after the other and onto what-ever new path lay ahead.

  "Come-on...young master...ride with me upon Alfy—we’ll get there much faster...for clearly...my friend...you look tired from your digging..!"

  Sir Milo reached out with his gesture of a palm and firm fore-arm...

  The thought of refusal crossed over my mind-set, but only so briefly. For as a young man, I had never ridden such a beast. But Sir Milo was a knight of the realm and I could fnot find any visible flaw to his logic. So, with two-open palms I grabbed tight to his grip...

  With no effort at all, he swung me up like a child and onto the raw, hairy skin that lay back behind Alfy’s saddle.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Have you had the pleasure of riding a horse before...young master..?” his voice called out calmly, even as the big animal began to move steadily forward.

  “This will be a first for me...Sir Milo..,” I replied in sincere earnest, as I clasped a tight hold to his sides.

  My mind felt weightless, few thoughts came to light. A nervous tension grew within me as I felt the big man’s ribs then expand to take in a lung-full of air. Instinctively, I tightened my grip, my fingers digging deeper into the woven gaps between the loops of his chain-mail.

  “Yah—yah—yah..!” Sir Milo cried out, his big palms whipping at the long leathered reins.

  Alfy, she showed no hesitation and rose-up her front legs and kicked her hooves in the air. I almost rolled off her back, but with her hind legs firmly set in the sand, she forced our bodies forward in a rushed hop to a gallop—in no time at all I found myself clinging even harder to the breadth of Sir Milo’s ribs, Alfy at a run to posess a full canter, her speed unmatched in paralell from anything I'd seen.

  She moved as though no weight had burdened her at all. And I held on for dear-life as the landscape of the wide valley that had us perched between the high-dunes, flashed by in smooth rhythms. My ears filled with the big animal’s breaths as they were called out in repetition, and I found myself amazed by the sheer speed that we now were exalting.

  “Surely..,” I thought, “with a noble animal like this...a man could quickly traverse a great distance in travel...and make a many moons' travel in just a single-day..." I wondered, "how long could such a beast maintain its present speed in its curse from the hot desert sands..?"

  Drops of spittle fell from the edges of my lips in their quest for quiet agreement with Sir Milo’s choice of fast travel and then turned my head to take a look out behind us. I was astonished to see the rolling clouds of high-dust as they trailed out from our position. Everything behind us had disappeared in the haze. It looked like the strange formation of a sandstorm had been chasing us down.

  “So...young master—how do you like it..?” Sir Milo hollered over from his large rounded shoulder.

  Behind his wide back, the air felt smooth and still—and deceivingly calm. But the moment I leaned outward, the power of the wind roared in both my ears and my face, it snapped my hair back like the fast beat from a flag.

  “It is quite windy...mast—puh-puh-puh...” I tried to get out but a fat-bug flew discustingly, right into my mouth...

  Reflexes struck first: I choked, then coughed, and then spat out brown-bits of the creature's legs, then its broken wings-tips into the fast-moving breeze. My fingers dove deeper into the links of fine chain-mail and I could feel Sir Milo’s ribs swell in with jiggles from the bugs fresh bee-heading...

  "This man—Sir Thomas Elwin Milowinsky...a knight of Córdoba...Spain—he had had himself a fat-grapple with laughter at my sorded expense..."

  In retaliation, I gave his sides a sharp squeeze. Ones so firm that it quieted his joy for only a moment before he then chuckled once again.

  “Yak’s behinds…” I muttered, and while caught within an earnest disgust, I leaned into the more sheltered middle-section at the crest of his back, and here I spat-out what remained of the day's cruelest meal.

  Then something over-came me. A thrill, perhaps...

  “Whoo-hoo..!” I shouted, while I grew overcome by the speed, the view, and the joy of our motion. Our bodies soared even faster as Alfy surged forward. I had no idea how fast a beast of no humps could make in its travel.

  “Whoo-hoo..!” again I cried out, the rush from the wind nearly lifted me free from the saddle.

  In what seemed like an instant, no time at all, we left the barren dunes far behind as we came upon the open flats—and thick-sandy slopes which rose up before a river. The famed "King's Highway" of travel, it no longer awaited us.

  Alfy slowed to a brisk walk, and not long after, I saw them—the miraculous line of travelers who stood lined up on the edges of the high slopes. They moved slowly, one after the other, like an endless string of ants who steadily marched toward some distant hope.

  My palms grew sweaty and I made my grip tighter as Alfy leapt in camel-like bounds up the rising bank to the top of a slope. Her strong legs dug deep into the soft earth before we reached the packed sand of the slightly wide roadway. it had been trampled hard by the countless cart, human, and animal tracks that only big groups could supply.

  Once we reached the full rise and our path had leveled out, the true breadth of the caravan could surely be viewed.

  It was endless...

  People, carts, animals, goods—all moving in a lined and patient procession. Sir Milo’s wide frame blocked much of my sight so I leaned out once again just a little bit further, just enough to glimpse their long prominade.

  My eyes widened...my irises caught the organized lot as they slithered far-off in the distance, and far into the horizon...

  “Wow...How many do you think..?” I asked, my voice raised over the breathless wonderment that filled me.

  Sir Milo responded without turning, he remained calm and unshaken from the spectacle, “Nearly one thousand...to be sure...young master...Tav..,” His words came out plainly as though it seemed they were no more than a small baker’s dozen to him.

  But I couldn't fathom it...

  The "Madaba" town market bazaar could not hold even a fraction of the multitude I saw here, and I turned again to look behind us as the stream of lives' that we passed stretched endlessly out before us in both directions. It flowed like a river that was made of living creatures—each step, each hoof-beat, each cart-wheel, only added to its song.

  Men, women, children, and even the old, they moved in solemn cadence. Some walked with staffs and sticks, others with trembling canes. Some rode upon carts pulled by large oxen or camels, and others upon strange horned beasts which I’d never seen before—creatures that brayed, barked and belched, while they all made their way along the winding road.

  It was beautiful...

  And it was terrifying...

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  Some had exotic birds of prey that wore blinded eye-covers and were perched atop fore-arms, while others traveled with larger ones which bore rounded, fat beaks and fanciful long feathers that showed off their cascading shades of deepest-blue, red, and green. Some were rarely seen animals that sat tall in their ready-made cages of brass, or fine woods, and others even rode freely upon their masters' clothed shoulders. I thought one was possessed by a spiritual deity—for I believe that it spoke to me in a very familiar tongue.

  I almost minded it alchemy, but settled for minor trickery. Though still, the bird kept on with its speach as we gently rode past.

  “Everyone knows that birds are born with hard-beaks and not mouths for voice or true-reckoning..!” I thought in curiosity.

  We continued at our pace, and every so often a knight of the realm would ride by on horseback while donned in his full wardrobe. Their war-gear impressive—shields of varied styles, and bodies adorned with swords, spears, and finely crafted crossbows, all carried so proudly. I noticed they bore assorted images on their weapons, cloaks, and even their animals. A consistent similarity stood out: many riders displayed thick lines of different patterned red-crosses—symbols of their family crest, clan or their guild.

  Their mounts came in endless combinations of solid and mixed patterns, and I took extra note at the knights as they came and they went. My eyes expressed awe at the formidable foreigners who rushed along in spaced lines along with the pilgrims. Horses kicked up gusts of dust and sand with each powerful stride given. In repeated small groups they’d descend on the thick ground of one slope, only to then emerge again further down-wind to rise up on another.

  This cycled-rhythm of movement repeated itself time after time as we rode ever-forward in our approach to a scheduled destination. The pattern gave me a deep sense of security—and by the looks on the many faces I saw, I could tell it did the same thing for them. I smiled at the men, women and children at their passing; in return, they raised small-palms in rotation and fingers that were put to quick waves, many pointed in excitement every time the knights passed them by. The riders, however, they never returned the gestures. With their palms stiff to reins and eyes pinned beyond, they held to their duties. This aloofness almost gave a royal-air about them as they rode through the scenery like fabled brigadieres upon thrones.

  Not long after, my thoughts had returned to a more sense of closeness, we finally caught sight of the white-tipped rapids which fed into the bend of a river as the course of its wind flowed far in the distance. The waters shimmered in a true-shade of blue-crystal, and from the sight of their width alone, it was clear that this river of water could dowse the entire caravan—and then some, no doubt.

  “Is that it, Sir Milo..?” I called out, my voice tinged with excitement. My body had grown more use to Alfy’s movements as my fingers gripped more confidently at the chain-mail which covered the sides of the knight.

  “That is it...young master...That it is...Welcome to the Jabbok...my boy..!” The big man passed back with a verve-filled flow of enthusiasm.

  It felt as though we both now took in with repeated deep breaths, relief—then we released them in a pairs of a matched perfect sync.

  We followed the "King’s Highway" around to the sun’s rising-side and as the river drew closer in our view, the scene before us spelled out to me not unlike that of an old tablet which I’d once shown to my friend, Master Netramie, all in the hopes that he could transcribe it verbally. He said it told of twelve-tribes and a great leader named "Moses", and his true-life adventure in exodus from the bold pharoah of "Kemit Egypt".

  And just like in that story, what lay stretched out before me in the wide sands of time, seemed pulled strait from that scripture.

  Behind us, the people and their animals stretched far and wide. But before us, the multitudes, upon multitudes, upon multitudes, pressed against one-another as they jockeyed for space and poured in mass on the fat banks of the "Jabbok River". The mass then splintered off into countless streams like the bodies of ants who flee from their nest, and then they fanned out along the width of the long-winding shoreline.

  The broad sweep of people seemed to move in confidence between the spans of two-thick ropes which had been strung up as a rail to aid in the crossing to both opposing shallows, their full lengths supported by evenly spaced wooden posts. The markers kept the path orderly as—carts, beasts, and younger travelers first entered from our side and then, in a steady-armed progression, they would hobble over and exit on the far side.

  “Surely the great master "Moses"...in his time...had also found his palms filled while traversing his waterway..."Sea of Reeds" it was called..," I pondered the thought while I took in the fantastical scene with fervent delight.

  Tingling bumps danced across my exposed skin as the hairs on my arms, legs, and neck stood right up. The atmosphere around me was charged—like the electrified air from the approach of lightning storm on a clear day. A strange electricity.

  In all my years, I’d heard many stories of pilgrimages and various people in their travel—and many a tale had been shared while at the "Madaba" market, that and during my laundry-trips along the vast "Jordan", but nothing I’d heard of had come close to this vision.

  “Hold up—here they are..!” came Sir Milo’s raised voice in an unfettered rumble which bounced over his shoulder, his palm pointed down at the slope of the roadway.

  There, in the distance, stood the large traveler's encampment, the home of my very dear friend and great master, "Sir Godfrey Bovillon Tancred".., leader of the armed, "Knights of the Realm", and my own personal friend and longtime confidant.

  My eyes widened as I beheld the vast gathering of tents, armories, and food carts which were spread across the land. Out in front, several column-like posts rose high into the air, each came displayed with two-fat crossbeams which were spaced below their open tops. From these rails had been hung many flags of ornate designs—their ends a flutter of bright fabrics as they flapped in the wind. Even from afar, their markings were clear.

  “Master Milo.., what do they fly there..,?” I asked.

  “The living crests of their homelands..,” he replied. “The smaller colored ones below the flags show the icons of their associated clans, while the streamers give commands to guide the entire enclave. This system of high-markers lets us know just exactly who is where, even from afar...”

  One flag flew high above the rest and drew my attention, it stood out as being much bigger and grander than all of the others, and it bore the unmistakable crest of "Sir Tancred"; its thick red-crossed-lines were emblazoned on the flow of a white-silk background which rippled in constant motion while it was cast high in the breeze.

  At once, I felt the full weight of his power come quickly upon me. The reach of "Sir Tancred" was long. His influence daunting as the flow from those standards flapped into the back recesses of my thoughts. The responsibility he carried immense—over thousands of lives—it was impossible to fathom.

  Even to count the number of people who were in the camp, it would take hours. And to feed, water, protect and organize them all… it must of been staggering.

  The sun at last broke free from the hills as its distant purple-pink hues began to slide along the horizon, it bathed me in the long streams of morning that cut into the tiredness which occupied my mind. These beams also lit up the valley and bathed the crowd in a cool warmth of brilliance as I raised up a finger to wipe the corner of my eye, I brushed them away, the hard bundles of dust-devils which clung to my lashes.

  We sat atop Alfy, Sir Milo and I, the three of us paused while sheltering for a moment on the crest of an embankment. This gave us a perfect view of the first section of the knight’s camp. Where there, countless soldiers, their tents, and stockpiles of weapons now stretched out in neat formations all the way to the shores of the "Jabbok River" itself. White-and-black, fat-ringed posts, marked the extent of the full camp’s perimeter at evenly spaced placements, and they stood out like sentries in the sand. Their placements made it clear to where one-world had ended and another had begun. It was easy to see now that these were the lines that separated patron, servant, and pilgrim, from the magnifiscent soldiers who made up the "Knights of the Realm"...

  ...Select Next Scroll...

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  Thank you valued Rider's Vault Members..!

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  CURRENT VOLUME List:

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  Scrolls of the Prophet...historical/biblical/adventure/coming of age

  - Awakening

  - Gathering

  - Binding

  - Bloodline

  - Prophecy

  - Phoenicia

  - Future Dig

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  Scrolls of the Past...historical/adventure/coming of age

  - Amen Rey (Egyptian)

  - House of the Fawn - (Greek)

  - Spice Road - (Persian)

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  Dominatrix...sci-fi/thriller/action/space adventure/coming of age/assassin

  - Domina

  - Bisal

  - Alaran

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  Terraformation..sci-fi/action/adventure/alien love story/space travel

  - Terra-Form

  - Terra-Rise

  - Terra-Site

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  Quest of the Seeker..thriller/murder mystery/afterlife/coming of age

  - The Key

  - The Clown

  - The Seeker

  **Hint: The Seeker is the Grim Reeper's brother...:)

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  The Cleaner..action/thriller/coming of age/assassin

  - The Child

  - The Woman

  - The Teacher

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  Ready The Yeti..children's series/adventure/life lessons

  - I Am Ready

  - I Am Sassy

  - I am Abominable

  or

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  Follow my load of chapters 1-30 as I edit / proof-read / and post...

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  Scrolls of the Prophet - Book Volumes 01 - 07 + all other titles in progress (25 Book Volumes)

  Join and continue to chapters 01 - 30 of each volume

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  ◆ all volumes ◆ unedited ◆ edited ◆

  ◆ full-draft versions ◆

  ◆ early-bird releases ◆ bundles ◆

  ************

  ************

  ◆ all volumes ◆ all titles ◆ unedited ◆ edited ◆

  ◆ full-draft versions ◆

  ◆ early-bird releases ◆ bundles ◆

  ************

  Or if you feel fishy... -Nano

  https://youtu.be/oVDP3mlpniQ -