I am going to start publishing the stories I think up on my blog. They are fictional and it is an outlet for my creativity. I enjoy writing and creating new worlds and new things. I have another story that I began writing on my typewriter at home and I may add to here as well.
This is a story that has been kicking around in my head for a long time. I was inspired by a song I was listening yesterday, or the day before, to start throwing bits and pieces at my friend through Facebook Messenger. She was floored by the bits I threw her way.
The song that inspired the beginning of the story is called “The System Dreams Only in Total Darkness” by the group The National. It is a song I keep on my Alternative music playlist on Amazon Music. The connection between the song and what I write/have written may not be clear to other people, but that’s not important. What’s important is that I stop hoarding my stories and start sharing them with the world at large.
I would like any feed back you can give me on my story and it is a work in progress as of Today, December 21, 2017, and is not complete. The title is a working title and may change in the future as well.
What if you were tasked with guarding a secret. A secret that would change the world and unleash unspeakable power if discovered. Change the word for worse in the wrong hands and for the better in the right hands.
A secret the world is not ready for. A secret that would drop the world to its knees and alter the face of human religious beliefs.
What if the secret to the great power was you.
You have the power to see the future, but your burdened with the inability to change what you see and you must ensure that things come to pass. This power allows you to see the true evil and good in the world. The angels, the demons, the archangels, the fallen angels, and everything in between.
You have witnessed the darkness whispering in the ears of the conquerors as civilizations have risen and fallen. Watching as the axiom of power passing from one great power to another.
You can neither die nor live.
You are a guardian of fate.
The year is 1907, Major Percy Fawcett has been tasked with mapping the boarder between Brazil and Bolivia under the behest of the Royal Geographical Society. The countries asked for a 3rd party to survey the boarder in order to prevent war between the two countries.
His long arduous journey has ended. He has completed his work and is making ready to return home.
He hears something moving through the brush, after meeting with different animals along his journey he is interested to see what he has disturbed.
Looking around he sees no animals, but under a large tree he sees something unusual. He stopped and picks it up. A piece of ancient broken pottery.
“Come on Percy! Let’s go home!” The voices of his colleagues cut into his thoughts. He looks toward them and back to the pottery in his hand. He sets it down and heads back to the group.
An odd feeling creeps up his spine. He looks back towards the tree and notices that in the late evening light a fog has set in. He closes his eyes, shakes his head and looks back to the happy faces of his colleagues. He looks back once more, but the fog is gone.
Little did he know that they were not alone and they were being watched. The tides of fate had brought him to this place at this time for a reason.
Fawcett and his group had settled for the night near the river and planned on setting off early. Everyone fell asleep where they sat, mostly due to exhaustion and malnutrition. Fawcett had began an entry in his diary, but fell into a deep slumber before he could finish.
He awoke in the darkness to a feeling of deep, intense cold. A cold like one would find in the Alps, not the Amazon.
Startled seeing his breath he sat straight up. Everyone else was asleep, the fire was still burning, and he was still in the Amazon. Quickly, he took to his feet checking his side arm as he looked around. That’s when he noticed that nothing was moving.
Stepping over to the fire he waived his hand through it, unhurt. He stared at his hand as his body began to shiver from the intense cold. His eyes were drawn up as a tall, slender figure approached him with eyes that glowed like a glacier in the daylight.
The figure approached, everything freezing as it stepped into the light.
The fire light revealed the figure as a woman in Viking’s armor. Her hair was white blonde, her skin was as pale as though the sun had never touched it. The glow in her eyes faded to a deep icy blue.
She stepped up to him, standing close to his own height.
“I’ve died and I’m going to Valhalla,” Fawcett mumbled looking over what appeared to be a Valkyrie that had come for his soul.
She cocked her head and horse eyed him.
Fawcett took a nervous swallow that was louder than he intended.
She squared on him, reached up and placed a hand on either side of his stubbled jaw. She pulled his face closer to hers and stared deep into his eyes. It felt as though she had reached into him and touched his soul. He was unable to think or move, frozen in place.
She broke her gaze, but did not release his face. She took a shuttering breath and looked him in the eyes. “You will return home,” her voice shaky, but firm. “You will fight in The Great War. You will see many deaths. Then the time will come that you must return and protect me.” Her voice grown steady, but her tone dire. “Many moons will pass, but you will not remember me until the time is right.” She kissed him on the lips and slowly released his face, her right hand falling over his heart and a faint glow issued from it. “I bind your fate to mine,” she said as she slowly lowered her hand a symbol appeared on his chest and slowly faded.
Fawcett stared at her. He didn’t know what to say or do.
“You must wake up,” she said backing away.
Fawcett awoke to his colleague kicking his boot. “Wake up Percy, it’s time to go.”
He looked around rubbing his face, his jaw slightly cool to his touch.
“Percy,” his colleague pressed seeing his look of bewilderment. “Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Fawcett responded getting to his feet.
The group left with high spirits of a job well done and hopes of a good meal to be coming soon.
Fawcett left the place with a haunting feeling deep within his soul. A feeling he could not explain.
He thought about the pottery he had seen and discussed it with his colleagues. Perhaps that nagging feeling was that he had found a lost city. A city large enough and domestic enough to create pottery. Maybe what people knew about the area was untrue. Maybe it had once been settled.
Fawcett became convinced that there was a lost city that had once been a great complex civilization. His conviction turned into obsession as he made many journeys back to the Amazon.
The haunting feeling returned with the start of the Great War. Something in his subconscious was telling him that he knew that the war was coming.
How could he possibly know that a war was coming? Yes, there was a general feeling in the political community that it was coming, but that wasn’t it. But it went deeper than that and he couldn’t explain it.
The war raged on around him. He many people die, some were his friends. The trenches were always wet and mucky. There were always rats.
The Germans were relentless in their siege. The mustard gas and other attacks made for low morale. At night, Facett would tell his men stories of his adventures in an attempt to raise their spirits.
But when it was quiet and the night sky was clear, he would stare up at the stars.
Something in his soul was pulling at him.
The tides were drawing him back to her.
When the war ended, Percy was injured and was older than he once was. His son had grown into a man and he into an old Soldier.
As General MacArthur said at the end of his career, “old soldiers never die they just fade away.”
Percy was fading, but the feeling within his soul was growing ever stronger to return. He knew he should ignore the call at his age, but his son wanted to go with him
Fawcet made attempts to rally his old colleagues to join him, but they would not.
He raised funds, created a new crew and with his son set off for the lost city Z.
What is known is that he never returned from this journey. Neither him nor his son were seen again. Theories and rumors circulate about what happened to them.
This is not a story about those theories or rumors.
Percy returned to the Amazon with his son. As they traveled through the jungle, he began to remember things that were not his own memories.
The party slowly died from disease, malnutrition, and native attacks…
Percy grew stronger and unbelievably younger. Everyone noticed the changes including his son.
“Father, you have changed,” he remarked one day. “You have stopped referencing the log books. You eat less than any many in the group, but yet you carry on with such vigor.”
“We are close,” Percy said cheerfully. “I can feel it in my bones. By tomorrow we shall be there.” He stepped away from his son and looked up to the stars.
“Father, I’m not sure we can continue. We’ve lost the pack animals and everyone is not well.”
Percy looked back to his son and around the shrinking party. “I have not come this far to be this close. I will not concede to defeat nor will I turn around.”
“You would rather find your precious city, than save the lives of your men. What madness is this that has taken you over? You have changed. You are not the man I know and remember.”
“Then, perhaps you should return. But I must complete my journey and return to her,” Percy said firmly turning his back on his son.
The whole party had begun to think that Fawcett had been overcome with madness, but no one could explain his physical changes.