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Don Brown: Legal Thrillers

NOTE FROM THE EDITOR:

As of WED this title is no longer free at amazon. I'm sorry. I had hoped it would stay free for the entire week.

 

Regards,

John Michael Hileman

Managing Editor

CFBR


CFBR: We are grateful you've decided to stop by and have a chat with us. Your Political Thrillers are fast moving, and bone chillingly relevant in this age of global threat. Tell us about your recent release, The Malacca Conspiracy. What is the hook?

DB: MALACCA CONSPIRACY is a fast-moving geopolitical thriller set in Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, and the United States. The book opens with a conspiracy in the Malaysian seaport city of Malacca. A rogue Indonesian general conspires with Saudi operatives to attack oil tankers in theMalacca Straights, coordinated with the purchase of crude oil futures. Their goal is to transform Indonesia into the first Islamic superpower, and to control the strategic sea lanes around the Malacca Straights.

The coordinated attacks on shipping drive up the prices of crude oil futures, and the group then uses billions in revenues from futures profits to finance an overthrow of the Indonesian government and cripple the United States by financing strategic nuclear attacks against three U.S. Cities.

JAG Officers Diane Colcernian and Zack Brewer, first introduced in my breakout novel, TREASON, return by popular demand. As the novel opens, Zack and Diane are serving as naval attachés to Indonesia and Singapore. Reunited for one last hurrah, Zack and Diane find themselves in the midst of investigating the conspiracy, and rush against a perilous deadline to stop it before American cities are obliterated.

CFBR: You must draw a lot from your five years as a Navy Jag Officer.

DB: I draw very heavily on my Navy experience, not only as a JAG officer at the Pentagon, but also from my studies through the Navy War College. My first three novels, Treason, Hostage and Defiance, were drawn heavily upon my JAG Experience. My most recent two, Black Sea Affair and Malacca Conspiracy, were drawn in large part from my War College and Pentagon experience. Bottom line is that my Navy experience very much affects my writing.

CFBR: What else do you draw upon for ideas and research?

DB: One of the things that I absolutely love the most about this job is the research. I get to learn something new every day and get paid for it! To me, that’s a dream kind of job. In this case, beyond my JAG experience, I will often look for ideas in trade publications and magazines like Proceedings (Navy magazine), Foreign Affairs Magazine, the Economist, the Navy Times, and various other trade journals, magazines and publications dealing with the military and foreign policy.

 

CFBR: How do your Christian beliefs influence your writing?

DB: I have three objectives when I write, and My Christian beliefs are manifested in my third objective. Please permit me to briefly lay out my three objectives. First, as a novelist, I have an implicit contract with my readers to entertain. To do that, my goal is to build tension on every page in a way that will make the reader want to turn the page, and feel satisfied with the ultimate resolution.

Second, I want to educate readers about geo-contemporary issues that are relevant to our world today. For example, in MALACCA CONSPIRACY, I hope that my readers can, in a fun way, learn about a part of the globe that is both exciting and also strategically important to the United States, and the free world, but that is at the same time, largely ignored in our public schools and our universities.

Finally, I want my stories to be saturated with a biblical world view, one in which biblical truth is manifested throughout, subtly, and in which my readers leave inspired to do what is right. One of my favorite life verses is Deuteronomy 6:18. “Do the right thing.” I want to place my characters in a position where they must ultimately, chose what is right in accordance with Biblical teaching. I hope this will inspire my readers to do what is right when facing trials in life that, as James says, we all must face. This is where my Christian beliefs come in as a novelist.

CFBR: We have many writers who visit our site, could you explain a little of how you promote your books?

DB: I think the issue of book promotion is one of the greatest challenges facing most of my fellow authors. Once the novel is complete, which in and of itself is a gargantuan task, there is often a feeling of “now what?” I’ve done lots of book signings over the years, and as my friend and colleague Robert Whitlow advised me years ago, I’ve found that sometimes book signings can be “hit-or-miss.” Sometimes, they’re lined up outside the bookstore, and sometimes, you sit there alone eating chocolate chip cookies! Hah! So I unless the book signing has a lot of organization and promotion behind it, where you know a lot of readers will be there as a result of heavy promotion, I don’t often use an in-store signing as a promotional tool as much as I used to.

The two things I’ve found to be most effective are (a) public speaking opportunities and (b) book club appearances. I’ve spoken to veterans groups and military-related groups, who may have an interest in my topic material, but no matter what your genre, many groups, like civic groups and others, are often interested in hearing a published author speak on the topic of “how to get published.” So no matter if you’re a romance author, or a military-political-thriller author, I’d recommend putting together a “how to get published” stump speech and go with that. See if the Lions Club or the Rotary Club or any type of civic organization like that would be interested on hearing that sort of talk. A lot of folks are very curious on how to get published and love to hear the author’s thought on that. Also, I’d call around to book clubs, who are captive audiences, and see if they’d like to have an author come talk to the club. Oftentimes they’ll say yes, then everyone in the club buys your book, is full of questions, you get wined and dined, and it’s a great word-of-mouth vehicle.

Finally, in my case, I have to give Kudos to my great publisher, Zondervan. Special thanks to Steve Sammons, Sue Brower, Alicia Mey, Jennifer Baar, and many others in Grand Rapids who have worked so diligently on my books and in promotion of other Zondervan authors. Bottom line is this. Having a great publisher doesn’t hurt in the marketing department.

 

CFBR: What is on the horizon?

DB: Right now, I’m in the midst of a new, three-book contract with Zondervan called “The Pacific Rim Series.” The first novel, entitled “Thunder in the Morning Calm,” a geo-political thriller set largely in and around Korea, is due out next year. I’m very excited about this entire project!

CFBR: Thank you for sharing your time and your writing with us.

DB: Thanks so much for the opportunity to share. I’m grateful for every opportunity to discuss Christian fiction, and am very grateful to each and every reader. Take care and God bless!

DON BROWN, a former U.S. Navy JAG Officer, is the author of Zondervan’s riveting NAVY JUSTICE SERIES. a dynamic storyline chronicling the life and adventures of JAG officer ZACK BREWER. He began writing his first novel TREASON In 2003, and it went on to become the NAVY JUSTICE SERIES.







 DON BROWN BOOKS AT AMAZON

      

Exclusive: Book Online #2

(Click VRIN, under Categories, to see all uploaded chapters)

This novel is available in print, and was a finalist in Operation First Novel 2007,

sponsored by Tyndale House Publishers.

Copyright © 2010 Amlin Publishing. All rights reserved.

Your comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 2

A REUNION OF SORTS

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After some time I sat forward; I had come to a conclusion. Although the events occurring were preposterous, it was apparent that I was in fact a part of them. And unless by some stroke of fortune I should wake to find this all a dream, I was going to have to dig to find some answers. Looking about, I took note that my vision had stabilized. That at least was a good sign. I stood, hoping the landscape beyond the wind-tossed curtains might jog my memory-- but I didn't make it to the window. Instead a full length mirror caught my eye and I was irresistibly drawn to it. Would I recognize the face staring back at me?

I stepped in front of the glass and could not believe what I saw. My eyes! They were glowing! Even with my memory loss, I was sure my eyes had never looked like this before. I moved in closer to examine them. They were cold and hard like steel, a deep blue color, strangely absent of irises or pupils. I experienced an involuntary shudder. Is it true? Cautiously I raised my hand to touch one, then the other. I poked at them until tears soaked my cheeks. I didn't know how, but they were real. I let out a cynical laugh; some god I was, confused and paranoid.

For several moments I stood quietly observing the curious stranger looking back at me. Aside from the eyes, I appeared to be a fairly ordinary twenty-something, with black hair, dark eyebrows, and slightly darkened skin. I was of Italian descent but there was something else thrown in there as well. My clothes were basic: hard cotton shirt, blue jeans, a pair of brown climbing sneakers. Coiled around my left pinkie was a gold ring, curious, but quite unremarkable. There was nothing impressive about my visage. I looked like an ordinary guy-- with glowing blue ball bearings for eyes.

I pulled my gaze away and proceeded toward the window. Careful to avoid the shards of broken glass I stepped over the sill and out onto the balcony. The wind tugged lightly at my clothing.

Below, a beautiful lawn with large flower beds encircled by rock spread out before me. In the distance, three moons hovered above the horizon, shedding an eerie blue blanket on the dark silhouettes of the night. In the center of the yard a statue of a woman stood opening her arms to the heavens. The workmanship was breathtaking, every detail captured precisely. Whatever this place was, it was beautiful.

At the edge of lawn a line of trees danced in the wind. As I stood staring at them a strange feeling washed over me. As if I were a part of the dance. I began swaying back and forth to their slow rhythm. And the wind grew stronger. Nature itself was moving to the beat of my heart and the world was alive around me. I could feel its power soaking into my skin and permeating my senses.

I longed to be walking along the path which twisted away just beyond the flower beds when suddenly a burst of energy coursed through me and I found myself surrounded by thin blue strands. They traveled away from me in every direction. Oddly enough, however, I was not shocked by their presence. Somehow I knew it was my will that had brought them to life, and instinctively I knew their purpose.

Caught up in the chain of events, my body responded to the force of my will, my essence melted into the strand that would bring me to the path, and with a crackle of energy, I found myself standing on the spot I had wanted to be. The wind brushed harder against my face. The sweet smell of flowers filled my nostrils.

I turned and looked back up at the balcony. The strand I had used was still floating in the air. The others had vanished, but this one still had a glow to it.

It seemed Mr. Barrows had been correct, I did possess some sort of power. I wanted to be on the path and the threads had reacted to my will. I looked around. Could I consciously control the threads? I spotted a small rock. Be an egg, I thought. There was no response. I increased my concentration and felt another energy burst. It started from behind my eyes and worked its way down to my hands. I waved my arms back and forth. Although I couldn't see the threads, I knew they were there; my arms tingled as they passed through them. Then all at once the web was alight once again.

I looked down at the rock. Like everything else it got its shape from the blue threads, which acted like an internal skeleton or a wire cage. The colors and textures of the rock were wrapped around this framework. Using the energy emanating from my hands I tried to bend the wire structure. I touched a nearby thread, closed my eyes, and pictured a sphere. Energy left my hands and when I looked down, the rock was completely round.

The web faded away-- and there I stood, smiling at my creation.

"Deep in thought?"

I looked up to see a beautiful young Asian woman, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. Immediately I found myself drawn into her eyes. They were exquisite, like two blue embers casting a soft film of sapphire across her lovely features. They were similar to my own, only much brighter. My gaze drifted downward. Her tiny form was distinct under the thin colorful fabric of the dress which fluttered slightly in the wind. She was absolutely breathtaking.

"Who..." was all I managed to utter, followed by open mouthed speechlessness.

A chuckle escaped her lips. "Who am I?"

"Yes, ah... That was what I was hoping to say."

"Well. Who are you?" she asked playfully.

"N- no one of consequence."

She straightened and gave a smirk. "Humble-- for a god."

"A god. Yeah..."

She began to back away.

"About that..."

"You should not be in such a rush to find answers. You may miss the moment. And this moment is going to be like nothing you have ever experienced." Her eyes sparkled. "Want to have some fun?"

She did not wait for an answer, but turned and bolted down the path. "Follow me!"

There seemed to be no other option. I looked back at the mansion. No one else was around. She was my best chance to find answers. I burst into a run.

Her braided ponytail swung gracefully behind her and her soft black shoes made padded thumps on the stone pathway. Each side of the path was adorned with manicured shrubs which acted as walls. In some spots they formed archways crossing overhead. I was surprised to find myself enjoying the exercise; her playfulness set me at ease.

When we emerged from the path we found ourselves on the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a large expanse of blue ocean. Far below, a village sparkled on the water's edge. Millions of tiny reflections danced on the distant waves, like fireflies playing in the moonlight.

"That's Trinador!" The wind blew at her words. "It is my village! I built it from the power of the web! Would you like to see it?" She looked absolutely magnificent silhouetted against the night sky, her delicate oriental curves were highlighted in the soft moonlight which played upon her garments as they rippled in the wind.

I couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else but with her.

"Sure! Why not?" I hollered back. "How do we get down there?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Fly, silly!"

And with that she fell backwards over the edge.

In reflex I grabbed for her, then scrambled to see her plummeting to her death toward the jagged rocks below. I didn't want to watch but was frozen in horror.

With violence her arms snapped wide and caught the vibrating wind in the fabric of her dress. With a graceful sweep she rose up in an arc-- and hovered before me.

I stared in open-mouthed amazement.

"Come on!" She laughed. "Don't just stand there gawking!"

I marveled at the scene before me: the young woman soaring through the air with graceful movements, her form melting into the peaceful backdrop of the twinkling village. She was completely at ease floating in the currents of the wind and there was an expression of total freedom on her face.

Suddenly I felt invincible. I looked down at the rocky coast far below-- but it didn't frighten me. I could sense its curves in the power of the web. With a thought I could easily turn the rocks into sponges. I could change the direction or the strength of the wind. I could do whatever I wanted. In this world, I was in control. Somehow I was now sure of this. And whatever doubts I may have had, evaporated.

I stepped to the edge and jumped into the void.

The wind smacked hard against my body. My heart pounded. My eyes overflowed with tears. Exhilarating! I willed the web to appear once again and saw that the strands were guiding the wind in upward and downward currents. I needed to be lighter for the currents to hold my weight. I focused on the structure of my body and decreased my density. With this my frame became lighter and the effect of the wind increased. Now all I needed were a set of wings. I transformed the shape of my shirt and spread my arms and instantly I began gliding upon the wind with ease!

The young woman was quite a distance below me now so I put my hands to my sides and dropped like a bullet.

With a twist she turned and rode a current on her back. "I told you this was going to be fun!" she called. She caught an updraft and screamed with elation.

We glided back and forth a number of times, exchanging glances and smiles. I didn't know this young woman-- but somehow I felt a kinship with her. "I don't believe I've ever had this much fun!" I yelled above the wind. As I spoke the words a feeling passed over me. I was certain I had never allowed myself to be wild or impulsive. But with this young lady it was easy to let go. I felt the urge to laugh at the top of my lungs. So I did! The laughter was contagious and soon we were both twisting and laughing, gliding effortlessly through the night. I wanted this moment to go on forever. But all too soon I began to feel the misty salt air on my face. The lights below grew larger and brighter. As the ground drew nearer, the girl turned and headed toward a strip of beach near the village. I followed.

It wasn't the smoothest of landings. I hit the ground in a run which quickly transitioned into a series of sand flicking tumbles, ending up with me on my back, laughing.

The girl swooped in, rose up for a moment, then landed gently on both feet. Her smiling face appeared above me. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride." I laughed. "That was amazing!"

She giggled. "You will be long discovering the wonders of this place."

"Of that I have no doubt." I rolled over with a grunt and got to my feet, brushing sand as I went. I brought the web to life once again and molded my shirt to its original shape.

"You are making great progress," she said, smiling. "Come. I would like to show you my palace." Gently she took my hand into hers. We headed up the beach to a path leading to a brown needle road. Thousands of sparkling lights lined its edges.

Trinador was like nothing I had ever dreamed or imagined. Enormous trees had been painstakingly carved out into separate living units all the way up the majestic tree trunks to the delicate canopy of leaves overhead. Slanted wooden walkways provided easy access all the way up to the lofty penthouses. And rope bridges criss-crossed over the brown needle road. Glittering lamps hung everywhere, filling the village with a soft glow.

The workmanship surrounding us was extremely advanced. It would have taken hundreds of sculptors hundreds of years to create these wonderful works of art, yet the villagers appeared completely at ease moving among the fantastic architecture. I was awestruck.

"You made this?" I said, craning my neck."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the briefest look of concern crossed the girl’s features. Lightly she tugged on my arm. "Come. This way."

I gazed in wonder as she drew me along. There were no cars here, only sturdy horses and an occasional cart. As the villagers scurried about tending to their nightly routines, I noticed that the colors of their clothing matched the green and brown hues of their surroundings. Their expressions reflected a general look of contentment. They stopped and bowed slightly as we passed. I wondered if this was a standard greeting, or an acknowledgment of station. Either way, I decided to bow back. I did take note, however, that my companion did not.

An old man looked down at us from his second story stoop. He rocked back and forth and smiling a toothless grin. An unsettling feeling washed over me. He was out of place in this fantasy setting. The scenery around us was without blemish, oddly unaffected by age or weather, but this man had a measure of decay. I looked about. Where were the rotting logs and dead branches? Aside from this one old man the village was perfect-- too perfect to be real. We continued on.

We rounded a bend. Towering before us with majestic grace stood the palace in all its splendor. Carved out of a tree much larger than the rest, thick branches traveled off in all directions. Ornamental carvings wrapped around the trunk in fantastic designs. A set of polished stairs traveled deep into its heart.

The young lady dropped my hand and flashed a brilliant smile. "So, what do you think?" she said with her arms spread wide.

"It’s magnificent. You made all this?"

"Yes." She giggled.

"It must have taken forever!"

Her lovely eyes lit up. "It did take awhile, and I must admit my first few attempts were rather poor. But the villagers were very supportive."

"The villagers were here before you?"

She nodded. "I stumbled upon their village quite by accident one night. They were familiar with who I was, so I was treated like a queen. That is why I decided to stay. That, and the fact that they needed my protection from Rath, the..." Her jaw tightened and she leaned in close, "the nastiest, most vile, spoiled rotten little..."

There came another rumble from the sky and the villagers quickly retreated into every nook and knothole.

"Oh, now that hurts my feelings, young blood." A deep voice resonated across the open area. "How many times do I have to tell you, Kitaya, if you blaspheme my name, I will make things most difficult for you."

The voice unnerved me to my very core.

"Rath!" Kitaya clenched her delicate fingers into fists of rage. "Where are you? If you hurt my people, I will make you pay! I swear!"

"Easy, young one," the voice boomed out. "You might burst a vessel in your head. Then where would you be?" I looked up to see a giant disembodied head filling the sky. It was aglow, and there was a twisted smile upon it. "Who’s your friend, strumpet?" The voice dripped with arrogance. "He doesn’t look like much from up here."

I felt a presence breeze by my shoulder, and turned to see a man whose face matched the image in the sky. Instinctively I looked back up. And immediately regretted it. A hand grabbed my throat and my back slammed hard against the matted ground. Rath hovered above me, his hand still on my throat.

"Leave him alone!" Kitaya screamed.

"If you do not interfere, little one, I’ll stop the games for a bit," he stated smoothly, never taking his eyes off mine. I reached up to pry his hand free from my neck-- but his strength was enormous. "You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, newbie?" He smirked, re-emphasizing his hold on my neck. "I am the ultimate ruler of this world. If you resist me, you will die. That is rule number one." He released his grip and moved away.

I caught my breath and arose cautiously, eying him in case of further attack. I tried to take a non-threatening stance, so as not to invoke any further hostility to my neck. Or any other part of my body for that matter.

He paced back and forth with hands on his hips, an ominous figure of a man, yet unnaturally charismatic. He wore a strange suit of black and red rubber armor. His curly blond hair rested against his padded shoulders. And a scar ran diagonally across his right cheek. His eyes, like mine, were blue metal spheres. Cold and lifeless.

"Conspiracy!" he said, glaring at me and pushing his finger toward the sky. "You, with us no more than an hour and you’re already conspiring against me!

"Y- You must be mistaken."    

"Silence!" He drew up his shoulders. "I will not be made a fool! I know conspiracy when I see it!"

"You see conspiracy in everything, Rath!" Kitaya yelled. "All we want is to be left alone!"

 He snapped around to face the girl. "Then why is it your troops stand on my border this very minute prepared for invasion?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "They are not there to invade! It is a defensive line. And it would not be there if you would stop your silly games!" Her lovely almond shaped eyes glared at him.

"Oh," he said unexpectedly, his expression taking on an air of sudden understanding. "My apologies young lady, my mistake," he said insincerely.

A horse materialized beside him and in one motion he spun and lifted himself onto its back. His cold eyes met mine as he leaned forward in the saddle. "I’ll be watching this one," he stated with finality. The horse bolted off leaving a flurry of needles in its wake.

We watched until he was out of sight. "Wow," I said, beating at my clothing to get the needles off. "That’s the second time I’ve been accosted since I arrived."

Kitaya shook her head. "It is always something new with him."

"So what do I do now?" I asked, feeling a renewed concern for my safety.

Kitaya looked up at me with a sullenness unbecoming of her beautiful face, and said, "Practice."

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We recommend this book. One of our reviewers has read Tahn, and he loves it. If you are a Christian, and you like Fantasy, this is a must read.


Kelly pens a novel with a medieval setting, writing under her initials to distinguish it from her historical Depression-era inspirational fiction under the name Leisha Kelly (Julia's Hope; Katie's Dream; Emma's Gift). The lovely Lady Netta Trilett is kidnapped by a cold-blooded killer, Tahn Dorn, who slew her husband several years before. This time, however, Dorn is acting out of a somewhat unexplained newfound desire to turn over a new leaf. After Dorn stashes Netta in a cave for her safety, the evil Samis, Dorn's former leader, burns her family's home. Dorn rounds up eight children Samis had tutored in villainy and spirits them away to the cave, where he and Netta care for them and Netta wrestles with forgiving Dorn—and understanding her newfound feelings for him. Kelly develops her story well in the first half, and her characters, especially the children, are sweet and vulnerable. Some light sexual tension and violence mark Kelly's change of genre. The pace slows in the second half, and readers may struggle with the idea of a woman romantically interested in her husband's killer, no matter how much Christians believe in forgiveness. Yet Kelly's tender touch will endear her to those CBA market readers who like their historicals heavily salted with salvation themes.


 From master storyteller Walter Wangerin, Jr. comes this familiar biblical saga told in a fresh, transfixing way. You'll feel you've never heard it before! Melding historical accuracy with imaginative detail, Wangerin uses the biblical books of Judges and Ruth to explore themes of love, faith, grief and community set against a backdrop of war and political instability.The widow Naomi grieves the deaths of her two adult sons after the shocking murder of a beloved adopted daughter, while pondering her responsibilities toward her Moabite daughters-in-law. Ancient Israel is in chaos. When her daughter-in-law, Ruth, begs to return to Israel with Naomi, events are set in motion that will change the course of history.But wait...this isn't the tame, flannel graph story you heard in Sunday School. In the tradition of Anita Diamant's The Red Tent and Elissa Elliott's Eve: A Novel of the First Woman, Wangerin imbues his tale with strong female characters and an earthy realism that gives the timeless Old Testament narrative so much power. You'll find echoes of contemporary issues throughout: deceit, heartbreak, loss, war, and, of course, the power of love. Naomi's combined strength and tenderness becomes the pivot upon which a nation turns; her decisions ultimately lead to the founding of the family lineage of Jesus Christ.Breathtaking descriptions, shocking violence, and inspirational courage make this spellbinding novel by a beloved award-winning author a story you won't soon forget. It's the perfect novel for your book group, and a satisfying read for those who love thoughtful biblical fiction.


World building and character development take a back seat to religious themes in British theologian McGrath's opener to The Aedyn Chronicles. Teenagers Peter and Julia fall into a glowing pond in their grandparents' garden and find themselves in Aedyn—a small, former paradise ruled for the past few centuries by a trio of masked tyrants. Hailed by the enslaved populace as chosen ones sent by the Lord of Hosts to throw off the oppressors, Peter and Julia participate in a secret communion ceremony (“Why do we eat salted fish on this night of the year and on no other night?”) then lead a successful rebellion. Along the way they learn to reject ritualistic temptations to choose personal safety or power over the greater good, and by the time they return to their own world they've also learned something about having faith—both in a higher power and in each other. Periodic black-and-white illustrations add a dramatic touch to the story. The perfunctory story line may not linger long with readers, but the clear, simply presented messages of its religious core will. Grades 4-6. --John Peters

IF YOU DON'T HAVE A KINDLE GET IT HERE.

Take advantage of future free listings.

This is the newest Kindle without 3G cell phone capability.

Personally, I download all my books at home-- not on the road.

3g is mostly useless; the Kindle has plenty of room to store all the titles you need for

any road trip.

This weeks winner

I could not post a video drawing this week, because I am in Israel. But I'm not going to leave you all hanging. The winner is Kat. Congratulations kat. I'll send and email to Penny when I return in four days.

There will be no drawing next week, but return for the following week for our interview with Don Brown, and a giveaway of his latest Legal Thriller.


Shalom

John Hileman
Managing Editor
CFBR

Review: McKenzie

McKenzie

by Penny Zeller

TAGS: Family Drama, Romance

This historical novel, set in 1881, a “prairie romance”, is the first in Penny Zeller’s Montana Skies series. The well-conceived plot of this novel is typical of most historical romances. A damsel in distress—an evil villain— a handsome romance interest—conflict between the central character and the romantic interest—and a final resolution with a happily ever after ending. 

McKenzie Worthington, the central character, is a young and naïve high society Bostonian, who, in an attempt to rescue her youngest sister from a dangerous situation, heads to the Montana wilderness. 

Fortunately for the reader, this novel is saved from the mundane and totally predicable by Zeller’s strength as a writer. Her story line is meticulous. The faith elements are strong. The plot elements are reasonably complex. Zeller’s characters come to life with richness and vibrancy.

Readers who love the historical romance genre will find McKenzie a step above the rest and will find their own faith strengthened as they reflect on the message of God’s sovereign power woven throughout the novel.




Reviewer: Janice E. Daku

Exclusive: book Online

(Click VRIN, under Categories, to see all uploaded chapters)

This novel is available in print, and was a finalist in Operation First Novel 2007,

sponsored by Tyndale House Publishers.

Copyright © 2010 Amlin Publishing. All rights reserved.

Your comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

A GOD AWAKENS

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So there I sat, wondering how long I had been staring at the same page of my book. My head was fuzzy, and my thoughts were scattered. I could remember starting the book, and I knew it was important that I finish it, but not much more would come to me-- including my name.

Somewhere a log popped.

I pulled my eyes from the page and tried to focus on the lavishly decorated room around me. Light from a fireplace scattered dancing trails of orange on bookshelves lining the walls and in the corner a spiral staircase wound its way up to a balcony where statues of mythical figures sat balanced on delicate podiums.

I shook my head; something was wrong with my vision. The effect was subtle, yet distinct. Every color in the room shimmered with a life of its own and my eyes tingled from the influx of shades and tints. I closed them and gave a squeeze, but the problem persisted. I looked down. Even the hands gripping the strange leather book had a color fluctuation, as if they could not decide on a proper shade of tan.

How long had I been sitting? I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. The stiffness there indicated it had been awhile-- but I was unable to draw upon any workable memory to confirm that conclusion. Scenes passed before me, but their meanings ran like frightened shadows. Face after familiar face pushed forward from the murky pool of my consciousness, but who these phantoms were and how I knew them was a mystery. Am I dreaming?

I shook the jumbled images from my head, pulled forward in the chair, and put weight on my feet. They tingled but had not yet fallen asleep. Placing the heavy volume aside, I stood and shuffled over to the fireplace where a variety of framed pictures sat lining the mantelpiece. The colors continued to dance, but I managed to bring things into focus. There were several portraits: a family gathering, children in color, a couple in black and white-- and a panting dog next to a smiling man holding a trout. I sensed these images held a secret to my past, but whatever that secret was, it eluded me.

Something caught my eye, a trophy tucked behind one of the larger portraits. I moved the picture to get a better look. The inscription read, "1976 Bar Harbor Golf Tournament, Second Place, Jason Tardin." Jason Tardin? Was that my name? There was a faint recollection. But nothing more.

Again I surveyed the room. There was such familiarity in this place. No. More than familiarity-- a sense of security-- like a childhood hiding place. I felt safe here, but safe from what, or whom?

My eyes came to rest on the book I had placed on the end table. I could remember nothing of its contents and yet-- there was something in it I needed to know. I walked over and looked down at the volume. On the cover emblazoned in gold were the words, Davata Notrals, and a line of letters I assumed was the author’s name. I started to reach for it, but froze. Why could I remember nothing before holding this book? Could it have been tainted with a poison or some kind of drug? Crouching down I examined the worn out pages from the side. They appeared to be stained from age but-- could the stains have been caused by something else?

Using a nearby pencil I turned to the first page-- then stared in confusion. It was written in a foreign language! I flipped to the next page, and the next... They were all the same. I stared long and hard at the stylized calligraphy, hoping my mind would string the characters together in some meaningful way, but it was no use. I let the pencil fall from my loosened grip. It didn't make sense. I could remember reading this book. But how?

The door to the study creaked open and a finely dressed man stepped in. "Master Tardin, a gentleman is here to see you, sir. Shall I show him in?" His voice was deep and his manner showed the distinct signs of cultured refinement.

The astonishment on my face must have painted a pretty picture. "Uh, I'm sorry. What?"

"You have a visitor, sir."

"--Who?" I asked, trying to appear calm.

"A Mr. Sajin Barrows, sir."

Sajin Barrows? The name held no familiarity. I straightened. "Uh, yes. Show him in."

"As you wish." He bowed, and without so much as a raised eyebrow, turned and exited.

Show him in? What was I thinking? I didn't know who this man was-- I didn't know who I was! I felt my head. There was no damage, nothing to indicate an injury. What then? Was this a mental institution? Was I a part of some psychological experiment? Had I been started on some new drug that was messing with my mind? Is that the answer? They've drugged me because I'm crazy?! No. Crazy people don’t wonder if their crazy. They’re just crazy. That’s all.

Footsteps approached in the hallway. Frantically I looked about. The colors continued to shimmer; the room shifted at odd slants. It had to be drugs! I needed to get a hold of myself! Just let things play out. Go with the flow. Don’t give anyone a reason to believe you’re crazy! Regardless of what had caused this problem, the best course of action would be to pretend there was no problem. Until an appropriate opportunity presented itself-- if I could just play along-- maybe the answers would come. The doorknob clicked.

I gathered my wits for the performance of my life.

A man entered the room, a distinguished looking gentleman in an elegant gray suit. The material was flawless, almost too perfect, and at his side he wore-- a sword? My memory was messed up, but I was pretty sure I’d never seen anyone wearing a sword before, not in real life anyway. I fought to keep my expression from revealing my confusion.

The man had a strong physique and his short black hair shadowed the determination on his face. Keeping his eyes lowered, he cautiously strode forward and reached out his hand. "Greetings, Lord Tardin. I have been sent by Vrin’s ruling house to welcome you to our world."

Our world? I shook his hand and kept my expression neutral.

"I am Sajin Barrows." He looked up and offered a smile. "But of course you already know this."

I returned his smile.

"The Prime Median, Daru, apologizes for his absence, but his reason for not being here is my reason for coming. I have come to implore you to consider a matter of grave importance to my people. I have no knowledge of how your kind communicates so if I cover anything with which you are already familiar, please forgive me."

I nodded stiffly, wondering what he meant by my "kind".

"Since the awakening we have no doubt witnessed indescribable wonders, things we never would have experienced on our own in a thousand years, and most of my people are thankful for the intervention of the gods. We believe the ancient prophecies and we believe you will one day deliver us to Ethral..."

Gods? I was immediately thankful for the quasi euphoric state I was in.

 "Nevertheless, there are some who are profoundly affected by the seemingly incidental acts of the gods, and it has caused in my people a troubled heart. We want to believe, we want to trust, but it is difficult to reconcile the contradictions. We need you to lead us to reason." He paused.

This guy was good! If he was acting, he was totally believable. Fine. If this is the game, I'll play along.

"Too which 'incidental' acts are you referring?" I said, trying to sound broody as I imagined a god would sound.

"My apologies, lord. I meant no disrespect."

"None taken. Please continue."

"It is the war which weighs most heavily on my people." He looked at me, as if I knew to which war he was referring.

"I'm sorry. You will have to give me more than that. There are many wars."

He lifted his brows. "The battle between-- Armadon and Rath?"

"Oh. That war."

His brows then furrowed. "We know of no other war in which the gods fight."

"Of course. You wouldn't," I said, hoping to cover myself.

"Why do they fight amongst themselves? Does the ancient text of the Marathil not describe the gods as joining together to destroy the evil of chaos? Even as we speak my people are dying by the hundreds, yet the others look on with indifference. Why?" He stared at me expectantly.

His acting was impeccable. His expressions and tone of voice completely believable. There was no hint of pretending as the fairy-tale words fell from his lips.

It wasn't hard for me to stay in character.

"I am very sorry for the hardships your people have faced."

He straightened himself with resolve. "Then you will help us? The others are unwilling to help. You may be our last hope." Again he stared at me expectantly.

"And-- what makes you believe I am any different from the others?"

"But why would you refuse us?" His voice held a hint of desperation.

What was I supposed to say to that? How long was this little experiment going to last? "--Ah, things are a little confusing for me at the moment."

"We are desperate people. Surely you can see that."

 "You don’t understand..."

"Then help me to understand!"

I wanted to scream at him. I don't understand! All I had were questions-- questions I didn't dare share with him-- for fear of who might be studying me, if there even was anyone studying me! The asylum concept was growing sketchier with each passing sentence. None of this made any sense. Crazy people don’t have meetings in large expensive studies with butlers and strange men with swords!

"Will you help us, lord?"

Was this guy for real? "I..."

The sound of breaking glass startled us and I twisted around to see a man dressed entirely in black crouching before a shattered window. In his grip, was a crossbow, and upon his features, a look of vengeance. Slowly the man rose from the debris, carefully aimed the weapon at my head, and began a slow advance.

"Put that down, Dirm! You cannot harm him, he is one of the Ten!" came Sajin's voice from behind me.

"They die!" His voice dripped with hatred. "And I will prove it!"

Was this for real!

I had to think fast. Think! These men actually believe I'm a god! Okay. But am I indestructible? The man with the crossbow apparently had his doubts. If I gave him any reason to trust those doubts he would kill me! "Do you love your family?" I found myself saying, with a tone of warning that shocked even me.

I must have struck a chord, for my would-be assassin paused his advance. "What do you mean by that? Demon!"

With all my strength I suppressed my fear, put on my best poker face, and looked the man dead in the eyes. In a cold calculating tone, I asked, "What kind of terror would a demon unleash on your family, should your assassination attempt fail?"

Sajin's voice was near panic. "Listen to him, Dirm! You have seen what they can do!"

I kept my countenance solid and my eyes locked on those of my adversary. I sensed this was not the first time I had stared down an opponent, and something told me I was good at bluffing. Very good.

His hand remained steady on his weapon as he searched my face for a hint of fear. But he found none. Slowly the tension in his stance visibly melted away. His body went limp with despair. With a muffled curse he lowered the crossbow and held it loosely in his grip.

Sajin stepped forward and relieved the man of his weapon. "We told you to stay out of this," he said in a low voice. "It was agreed we would seek aid, not incite war. I know your son is dead, but this will not bring him back. Nothing can bring him back."

"Nothing?" The man's eyes lifted, he glared at me with contempt. "Can they not bring him back?" His inflection was filled with bitter distrust.

Sajin turned to me. "My humble apologies, lord. We had no way of knowing he would act in this manner."

"No harm done," I said, trying desperately to keep my voice from shaking.

"You can be assured he will be severely punished for his actions," he said, gripping the man by the arm.

"Please, don't," I said.

Both men looked up, surprised.

Sajin bowed, "You are very merciful."

"It is not mercy. His anger is justified and not deserving of punishment. However, I'd like to assure you, I had no part in the events which claimed his son's life."

"Our understanding is limited. We do not know the workings of the gods, we can only judge by what we've seen-- and there has been much pain. Pain which has blossomed into this violence. Thankfully it has ended here. If he had succeeded your death would have no doubt caused a revolution.

A revolution? Against gods?

Sajin sighed. "My people are painfully divided. I wish it were not so."

 "Have we caused only hardship?" I said, surprised to note it was a genuine question.

 "It is mixed, lord. Some have been generous, picking up the pieces where the two have done battle, but others protect their own interests, or stay out of the affairs of man altogether-- unless they are directly affected."

"I see."

"If only we could speak with Gaza," he said, almost to himself.

I paused a moment, contemplating his statement. "You think Gaza can change this?"

"He is the Maker, the god of birth. The great book reveals that none among the gods are more powerful than he, with all due respect, lord."

"You speak highly of my brother Gaza," I said, now irrevocably submerged in my role.

"As your leader, does he not decree the conduct of the gods?"

I dodged the question. "He does as he pleases."

"Would you consider waking him to ask if he will give our Prime Median an audience in his court?"

"This is all you ask, a meeting with Gaza?"

"Yes, lord." He bowed.

 "I will think on it," I stated curtly. "You may go." With a wave of my hand, I ended my performance and turned toward the fireplace.

As the door closed behind me, my body loosened, and I was left to sift through the preposterous mystery I'd found myself entangled in. If this was a trick it was an elaborate one-- but if it was not-- I was in way over my head.

For a long moment I stood motionless, then slowly sank back down into my comfortable chair, feeling considerably less than comfortable.